31686

by angeliska on October 14, 2003

Only these things:
I saw Cremaster 3 a few days ago,
enjoyed very much the Masonic allegory,
and as I also have a crush on the Chrysler building
it was a bit terrifying seeing it so manhandled
and turned into demolition derby and
elevators into rough ashlars,
silver towers into maypoles, and so on.
Afterwards we stood on top of the parking garage
and stared over the city, shrouded in fog
those days where the sky is opaque, a pane of glass
and were surprised to see a milk white mule
galloping unfettered down the avenue..
No one chased it.
Life imitates art, as per usual.
On the way to the theater,
our beloved Anal Lace Enema
we had passed the mule carts huddled together
in the morning drizzle and I had remarked
on the beautiful pure white mule there
and how I would like to steal it and ride it
through the streets.. I sometimes wonder
if I’m in a coma, or living in a long dream
where my random thoughts keep manifesting
themselves into some sort of twisted tangential reality..
In cold thicket.
Spending much time putting off packing,
For another day, inevitable..
Though going through boxes and bottles of flies and fingernails
All this ash and dust I’ve saved over the years,
Fragments of dead stars and shell and bone
It’s time to part with faded wings and rot-petals.
Sorting through one box I stifled a shriek as
A rustle, then a tiny wiggling thing leapt out-
One of the transparent lizards had been residing within.
I have a difficult time throwing things away,
I would rather leave them in odd places
For others to happen upon, or possibly not.
To bury, throw it all in the river, not to burn
But to hang in trees, or in the foundations and floorboards.
The memory of passing objects.
And so perhaps a lucky soul would like to receive
A box packed with my assorted detritus?
Really, now- if you’ll leave it in interesting places
I’d be happy for someone to have parcels of bits and bobs.
Three bees are trapped inside, though the doors are open
and I spend the morning interrupting writing and tea
to let them out again.
And the noise of the squirrel on the balcony
chewing on a bull’s femur, rodentine dental hygiene?
With a piano on a rainy day it’s all I ask
for you and your flickered eyes and shuttered eyelids
gentle beneath a fingernail of skin alone
in your bed alone in your day every day
there is no one and don’t you know it.

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