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Hide and seek This game of hide and seek has lasted over a decade. In an infinite house with multi- plying rooms, wings like hollow spider's legs. Left so many white handkerchiefs in cubby holes and closets, it became impossible to tell who's was who's or what
ObservationOccasional sentences performed forwicker based chairs. Thread syllables in out in out inthrough backs weaved with their straw, a sepia corset turning away. 'Out....'(there pronouncedwith Shakespearean difficulty; footnotesin the marginsof facial expression, eye bags brimming with York Notes) '…..of milk...
melody for the autisticWhat you never sawwas me walking down corridors of my mind as I left you. An eternal reboundlonergetting stuck in my portable tape deck. Oh claw clinging you that swellsa monster on my(clear white pure simple wonderful) mind sheet,I am runningknowing my name as I run.lonerI am mute by prison, not decision.I sling my mute voice around your neck and hang you with it.Today my father said thatwithout people, he was finally free.I guess there's no one to yell at himdown a corridor.I amone of the blessedwho doesn't know loneliness. (st-./r:ug
Now showingAnd we'll meetand I'll be there in a blouse that blows slightly openlike a sentence I left incomplete a year agothat for once...…you didn't finishand you,with eyes that willskim like stonesover a hundred yard stareIt's the appeal of those little backwater town cinemasthat used to be theatres. We'll smile but with arms foldedas we file past 'Now Showing'feeling like neither of us ever will. We'll try to find something appropriatebut something or other will always push us back into a situationwhere we're satstillin the darknext to each otherstaring forwardwatching a romantic interest develop for a hundred and twenty minutes. In the darknesswe're most comfortable, looking on,as if in a world outside the universeat how these things called humans love. Well I don't know my loveand I don't know if we'll ever be seen by anyoneon the silver screen.Silhouettes will performpirouettesto a dialogue we know by now. Female lead will spike up with, 'I just never k
ComfortableThe atmosphere around youis made of armchairs,a twilight made for picnic bearsand a sun wrapped in a corduroy smile.Your eyes pour out coffeefrom a whizzpot mind,I coast on marshmallow raftsto your words' finish line.Wherever I find youI feel like I've arrived.I've been going throughall different types of forgetting;an amnesiac by twenty five.But even when I didn't know your nameI still knew who you were,you're the special darkness under my eyes,that connection to somethingthat makes me feel alive.As you talk, as you listen, couchedsomewherebehind my eyes,is the question, 'how cantimebe such a cat stretch of beautywhen it's done such horrid things to me?'The last time I saw you, you saidI just seemed so tired,I should get some rest. I guess without you around Ijust can't...get comfortableI don't think I've slept rightmy entire life
BubblesWe sit in a café, in the bodies of two autumn aged women, our hair collecting fiery tints like leaves as time blows irreversibly past us. Our bodies overflow onto the spare chairs like unfinished, sloppy dough, bursting haphazardly through an insufficient bag. I stare at the table in our silence, where crumbs of fleeting pleasure lie motionless, scattered across notches and scratches. Recall engraving given name with mischief and pride onto an exam desk. Now there are as many coffee stained rings at the tables we sit at as we have had rings on our fingers. Connections all made with stale milk, that just became unpalatable, and had to be poured away.I look up at her. No wonder I can't talk to you. You're repulsive. Now we don't say anything to each other. Just avert our seeping eyes and avoid the other's like blue dodgeball. I'd grab a newspaper to lend occupation to the tones of failure but, in all honesty, I want a husband to fill that role next to me. To watch a world other t