Angel BonesAngel Bones
She got up
from where she had laid beside him
where their shoulder blades
their angel bones
made mountains across the bed
and their ribs stood close together
like curved fingers anxious to interlock
and their legs
ran parallel to one another
like two lanes
of the same straight highway
She got up
and the weight of the night and the morning
slid down her flat back
onto the floor.
There are times that I would touch you, even as distant as you are. When I would find your eyes in the twilight, the half light of candles, breathing secrets and dreams, and reach out with soft hands and touch you. Strip you of your clothes and your insecurities, cut them away with firm lips and a sharp tongue, and listen to them slither past you thighs and onto the floor. I would leave you shining in the moonlight, silk skin and confidence. Naked and brilliant in the warm breeze that tickles you like ten fingers from the open window behind you.
I would smile at you and you would become weightless, the corners of my mouth cutting away the strings the hold you to the earth. The pressure of the pulling slipping from your skin leaving your bare feet breathless with sudden lightening, tiny gasps from each toe, heels separating from the cool squares of marble beneath them, unsticking with kisses, toes touching lightly as you float just above me.
But I would not let you go so e
Dick and Bush[The Oval Office. President George W. Bush is sitting at his presidential desk cutting lines of coke into a large W on a mirror taken from the Lincoln bedroom. He has a sudden epiphany.]
Dubya Ms. Smith, would you send the vice president in? Thank you.
Cheney You called Mr. President?
Dubya Good to see you Dick. Please, have a seat. Dick, I have a question for you.
Cheney Yes Mr. President?
Dubya Dick, do you know why I chose you for my runninG mate?
Cheney [Sighs] Yes sir
Dubya Well, don't just sit there. Why dontcha go on and tell me if you know?
Cheney Do I have to tell you again, sir?
Dubya Go on boy, you tell it better than I do anyway.
Cheney [A second sigh] You chose me as your running mate because every bush needs a good little dick to go along with it.
Dubya Hee haw! I never get tired of that one.
Cheney No sir, you never do.
Dubya Come on Dick, don't be so sour. Loosen up a bit. Here do a line with me, you'll feel much better. [He snorts on
Eduard and Auguste - 1st DraftAuguste and Eduard
It is not terribly cold in Paris, but the snow falls in light flakes, floating softly as feathers in the clear winter air. A tall man steps off the train, catches the cold metal hand rail carefully, and moves out into the station where the flow of bodies merges and splits without hesitation. Behind him two smaller figures emerge, both dressed in dark colors. The first is a child in a tiny coat buttoned tightly around her. The right side of her white collar of her dress shows defiantly against the coat, having somehow escaped its woolen grasp. It makes a striking white silhouette against the dark blue coat. A woman holding the child's hand is last out of the train. She turns her head in both directions as she steps carefully down the three steps and onto the concrete floor of the station. Her shoes ring sharply in the cold, like flat coins, but the noise is quickly lost in the general mumble of passing traffic.
The man moves into the stream of coats and hats. H
Cowboy CatechismCowboy Catechism
A lot of people are talking about Jesus these days
I guess if he comes I don't have much to say
I'd just tell what I done'n what I ain't
Probably wouldn't work if I tried to lie
So just leave it at that and let 'em make up his mind
End up wherever, and see what I find
Guess I'd like to go to heaven, but I ain't done much for wings
Probably get on my nerves all that harpin' and singin'
Course hell's not much better for those sorts of things
Ain't done much that I'm ashamed to tell
Not much to get me to heaven, or send me to hell
I've cursed at the sky and I been in jail
I cussed a little and lied here and there
Said a few things wouldn't want you to hear
I've stolen some things, but things that were fair
things that I needed, I guess you could say
But I've talked with Jesus on better days
and I've been baptised, and I've said my prayers
Been with some women and that probly ain't right
But a man's gotta keep warm in the cold of the night
But Jesus'll likely forgive me fo
A ConversationA: I want to love you
Z: I know
A: Do you want to love me too?
A: But you will.
Z: Maybe. But only if you make me.
A: I won't.
Z: You'll have to.
A: I won't.
Z: Then I will never love you.
A: But you already do.
Z: How can you tell? Did you smell it?
A: No. I know you love me because you told me that you don't.
Z: Then I love you.
A: I know.
Z: You'll never prove it. I'll never admit, even if you hit me and call me names.
A: You are already doing it.
A: Trying to win.
A: By losing.
Z: Will you let me?
A: By helping you lose?
A: Because if the only way you can win is to lose, then I lose too even if I win. But if I lose so that you can win then I've lost. The only way I can win is just to keep playing.
A: I'll never let you win.
Z: Then I'll lose, and by losing, win.
A: No. Because I'll never let you lose either.
A: I'll never stop playing. The game will never end.
I am the messenger of god she said, legs spread. My name is Iris and if you love me you will hear him speak. It did not seem likely that here was the prophet he had come to see. An unlikely sibyl in unclean Delphi. On the table next to the bed where she lay was a collection of small hard objects. A syringe, a spoon, and a flattened cotton ball that had become sharp as it dried. A single candle burned in the middle of the small table, augmenting the hard ball of light from the lamp in the corner, seeming to surround it, instead of merging as it might.
He took his clothes off and laid them neatly in a pile on the floor next to the door, setting his slacks and shirt on top of his shoes, and his boxers down last. He wondered how he will get erect in this place, this dirty hole he had come into. He did not understand any of this. He did not understand the motion of the room around him, he did not understand the weaving of the snake before him. She lay there, eyes empty a
Day in the Life - epimetheus9.30.01
I like long drives. They require no attention span. Long drives are merely a repeating set of values that include in front, behind, and side. Personal reactions to those values are immediate and momentary, then concluded with the resumption of standard values. The rest is just fleeting scenery and the radio.
There is little foresight involved in driving. The best you can do is avoid rush hour, but in Orange County there is no rush hour because it's always rush hour, so even that little prophecy is nullified. There are very few predictions in traffic. Your predictive ability is limited by the car in front of you, and there's no telling whether that car is an independent actor (driving slowly in the fast lane because he's an idiot) or if he is merely a cog in the chain (penultimate in a line of cars behind an idiot driving slowly in the fast lane). There is always the rearview, but where you've been almost never helps you determine where you're going, only what you do whe
Beneath a Patchwork SkyBeneath a Patchwork Sky
At the end of our three days together I remember
standing beneath a patchwork sky
sewn from six soft blue squares
and hung behind a sun as smooth and hard as steel marbles
I remember standing next to you
as careful as needles
listening to your heartbeat on the outskirts of the city
I remember the difficulty of skin
and the sweet tangle of words before watching you walk in
with straight hands, sharp eyes
and steps as smooth as stones
as you disappeared
that it would be difficult to find you again
among so many people