Sunday, December 14, 2008

Why, To Feel My Lips Move, As A Reason To Think

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He said he was never lonely but usually alone. He told her the time because she asked for it, not because he wanted to talk to her. But he would buy the kennel before the dog.

The party sweats in the kitchen. In the hallway it breathes. Diversification is this split in geography, the threshold and the doorway.
“Please forgive the crisp crumbs and red-wine stains. Ignore them and find what you desire.”
At twelve she turns off the lights and asks people to listen to one other.
Carolyn hears a whispered proposal. Dave feels his own heartbeat tap the wall of his chest. The lights are turned back on when the house dog enters excitedly, knocking against legs, both human and table. In a foot stomped is persistence.

Yesterday, Thursday, Edgar took her for a ride on his Black Lightning. He promised her gunshots and every house they passed. She left him alone for the toilet on the mezzanine level of East Westchester Mall, and didn't have enough time to wash her hands before the waitress screamed.
She would come to the party anyway and turn off the lights in the kitchen, to think about him mostly, to shut the party down and drink her piece.

Later she finds a passed out boy and would never be sure at what time she went to sleep. She lays with him for the darkness because the couch doesn't cough or drool, just collects loose change.
He wakes naturally to discover her eyes and tell her the time. The sun has already cracked dawn so they leave by foot to find the day. It wouldn't be long, their time spent together, but it would feature their first cups of coffee and the practised anger of the city. He pays for the subway and she chooses home.
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