She asked if I'd get serious a long time ago;
as delicate seasons fervently transfigured beyond our ken, onto springtime riversides of daytime solace; lavishing green and reflected off melancholy mirrors of sea-foam memory surfacing; mud-filled walkways of early April desire, moss lingered and spoiled our Summer expectancy thrice over:
I stared dully into a solemn afternoon courtyard; reluctantly drank in the morning, again off balance; morbidly enervated; repeating familiar oaths, fulfilling bleak prophecies; as studded mercury inhabits a dated thermometer, lungs gravely heaved within our third story window.
Her feelings admonished a brilliant blue dining-room table-set
in twentieth century livelihoods while
outside in the naked city
trolley platform foundations
perish above mitigated evening streets
gasoline dinner stoves exhale a
savory stench of dead gristle
arising into cloudless skyline obscurity, below
dead avenues of sacred flesh and routine existence
sallow moonshine grew cold around her tepid breath
chest sunk low and whimpering; smoker's cough and ruddy nave
wrought in due season, insidious playground of poignant May ruptured in
automobile traffic throngs of
shimmering auburn deluge
at neighborhood bus-stops
humanity's misplaced squeal resounds in
glistening fonts of allegorical amalgamations
growing weary eating
at restaurants year-round
mindlessly grudging with
ourselves amid
boring Sunday boardwalks of
art-museums in placid August
sinuous heat ascends from
soiled mattress covers
another day's lease cosigned
by our bullshit.
don't pretend you're aristocratic
watching television
talk-shows late October night when
every day is Thanksgiving though
in the beginning it was Halloween when
we cared about our stupid guises and
fictional pastimes created by civil barbarians
Cindy is still
somehow sweet
in knee-highs stockings her
browned nipples trickling caffeine breast-milk effluent
on her pillow at midnight her
scent is soft and nimble as the cocaine commerce
beats down gritty alleyways of morning sickness her
voice shrieks immaculate violet feebly
awaiting planned parenthood purgatory
we share a bed-of late, her pregnancy prior to
our residential coquetry beside sill a.m. windows of
sunlight casements and predictable aftermath.
We grew young and illumined aside soiled flowerbeds of daffodil and hyacinth. Crimson petals spread out across our delinquent readership. Winter gusts swept in prematurely off the east coast that year; we road-tripped across county mountain-lines. Rural and well acquainted; I drank truck-diner gin; suffered heartburn by the episcopal badlands, regurgitated nail polish on to Mt. Rushmore's historical visages. Gambled with the heavyhearted Navajo by the boarded Keystone precinct house. Slept with Belle Star on woolen bedspreads of rustic infidelity, inherited old western heirlooms worth hundreds, then threw 'em all away on the slot-machines
Discombobulated and starstruck; we overlapped timezones in your ex's convertible. Crystal meth freeways and overnight churchyard delirium.
Sullen and fatigued New Year's day, we parked on a residential hillside covered with snow beside a white and desolated graveyard; scattered drifts laden all around enmeshed tombstones.
We made love in the backseat with the radio buzzing, then slept and continued to sleep,
we slept through leap-year's larkspur that February, awoke in mid-march to the sound of tractors clawing up plots of thawed earth from the adjacent cemetery. I leaned into the passenger seat and reached into the glove compartment for cigarettes.
Without speaking we knew
it was time
to go
home
whatever that was.
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