I am cold, and it's wild. I am so
alone, and it's holistic in its embrace. I told her I'd show her my
teeth if she showed me her lips. I said, “This is my home, I
welcome all brittle bones and stones”, but she wouldn't drink it
down. So in fit of childish sophistication I tuck her tightly in her
bed and whisper, “Sleep well, my lovely little one. Don't worry,
it's an easy kind of fire”.
Memories come like frost; slow,
chilling your breath, and destroying fragile things. Her skin is
gasoline, and my fingers are matches. They say when ivory meets
sapphire then my hunger will be satisfied. They say once I put my
seed into her, there's nothing more I can do. She bit off my thumb
and ring-finger, and boiled the bones to make a broth, I think we'll
put in my mother's iv.
There were two sisters, one was a
woman, and one was young, and they loved each other. Their love was
strong and wild, like a chemical fire in a meth lab, but their father
drove them apart. And after many years they stood over his grave,
drinking vodka and sniffing glue. The young one held the woman close,
and bit her ear. The woman put her hand up the young one's skirt, and
their father rolled over in his grave to get a better view. Now no
one ever thought much of their childhood games, but now the sight
hits too close to the mark, and now everyone in this small town is
terrified of a little love.
I am warm, and it's refreshing. I am
awake, and it is bright and irritating. I told him we wouldn't stay
long, I told him “I am shedding my skin for you, the least you
could do is sing a song”, but he isn't alive anymore, and I cannot
bring myself to bury him yet. I clutch his corpse close to my chest
and whisper, “Sleep soundly, little prince. Don't worry, it's an
easy kind of fire”.
Dreams rise and fall like empires;
getting fat and bloated, stretching themselves too far, spreading too
thin until they burst. Her teeth are flint and steel, and my tongue
is dry bark. No one told me that scars can change the way you see the
sunrise. No one told me that when you rip it out, it doesn't grow
back. He took my imagination and heart in his fist and shoved them
into a blender telling me not to over-think it all, not like the
boy-lovers and men without hair. I think we'll give the mixture to
our children.
We were two brothers, and we were both
boys, remember the summers and autumns we spent being knights and
red-blooded patriots in the old yard we called Wonderland? Remember
your sisters, and their teacups, and how we made them feel like they
would never be harmed? Bandits, and sheriffs, that's what our
afternoons were filled with, and sticks and little piles of stones
and paper, all for us. No one could touch us or our dreams, no one
could understand them like us. But then you grew up, and got too busy
polishing your boots to talk with me anymore. You said I shouldn't
sleep so much, shouldn't think so much, shouldn't speak and wink so
much. I still clung to who you were, I still saw you siting in your
sisters' room plucking the strings of your banjo while we talked
about the current tax code. I know it's all gone now, never coming
back, but take courage brother, me and her will never fall out of
love.
