Hugs Not Drugs
We fucked away lost feelings. Beat talking about it, stumbling at dawn, clawing at mist. You can forgive stupidity but sadness never surrenders. So we watched days melt, smiles and harsh drinks on the floor. Love in lunatic form. Screaming punching vows of fidelity. It was the only way we knew to do it. Fuck if I remember the lyrics.
She fed crows from her hands. Dumb brutes shitting on the porch. They reminded me of James Whitcomb Riley, late fall Hoosier rhymes and cemetery fences. She believed in their souls, but I knew better. As a kid I saw some feed on a bloated dead sow. My grandfather, driving past, admired them. But there was hatred in my young heart. I rolled up the window to muffle their cries. Braggarts tearing swine.
Flying through my yard, neighbors sweeping driveways. They wave, ignorant of my powers. A look and they're ash. I casually fly by, dogs running in my shadow. Reach the end of the court, hover, blue cape rippling. Soon this will be gone. For now, I soar.
She squeezed my nipples for the first time. They burned and it was beautiful. Finally, real feeling. Bullshit words and promises hid from this heat. Her small fingers and thumbs played me raw, ruining me for life. Everyone after her paled, some hands hotter than others, but the cherry had popped and rotted away. Like sin, original touch is a rumor.
Bo is buried near the road. Toy collie coarsened by burrs. Bo was the happiest being I knew. She ran at you sideways, back end wagging, long face smiling. She chased balls and killed rabbits, preferred the garage to the basement. On warm days she slept in the yard. For two days she slept, unmoving. We went out and turned her over. Other side crushed by a car. A goddamned shame, said my uncle. We buried her and wept until dusk. I visit her grave now and then.
All floors collapse in this house. Yet it stands. Erosion, illusion, luck of the draw. You can wish and blow out candles, or stay quiet and hear the cracks. That floor's giving way. Welcome home.