Were you in the garage that summer—
playing rockabilly blues
and rockaway my sorrow honey with a sledgehammer?
you—in that dirty, yellow tank top,
the once white fabric holding in
the bronzed body caked in grit and dust.
And was it her—that lovely skinny thing—
who kissed your neck, her flowing brown hair
falling down around her? (And how she’d look
when it was raining—hands in pockets,
looking up to God for it was spring
and indeed time for resurrection.)
And what about those times when
she threw off all her clothes and danced
naked and wild and howling?
Do you remember how together you’d lie at night
in the back of a pick-up
parked exactly half-way between here and
Pueblo? And what of that one particular instant
when she looked at you
as if she wanted to scream, but she
swallowed and held it in and you swallowed
and asked nothing and so
nothing was said until dawn?
This—this existence of too much sun
and not enough drugs, food, sex
(what was it that was lacking?)—
this existence of the suntanned pauper king
and his 6 string pawn shop guitar,
this existence spent dwelling,
understanding the notion of sharing bodies—
it was not enough for any of us
and so we packed cardboard boxes,
dreamt of other horizons,
and dared to believe that what we didn’t need
we would leave behind.
Antagony
It’s probably better you never called me back -
I don’t mean to bring you down,
but I probably will.
Lazy ideas wander throughout my brain:
I drink water from piles of tires in the playground,
mosquitoes hatch in the tummy and buzz around a few seconds.
I feel sorry for them
I feel sorry for everyone
so I say I am sorry
so I sing I am sorry
then they turn down my volume.
Just got a job,
but still broke as before
but now with less time.
I need to do more wrong things
since the wrong plans are the
only plans which ever work out.
People walk away when I speak
so I might as well shout,
towns are made for cars now
so these legs are unsure of themselves.
It takes so long to get anywhere -
might as well lie down
and let hunger eat itself.
(let hunger eat my legs
let hunger eat my arms
let hunger eat my head
and the skull inside
the brain the eyes the jaw the lips
hunger will eat my body
and when this body is gone
hunger will eat my bed
hunger will eat my room
hunger will never stop
until a baby cries
then it might stop)
I woke up in a hospital
I thought I saw animals all around me
bears, giraffes, transparent but alive.
I blinked and heard gunfire downstairs.
Then you found me and fed me some water,
it is good you never called me back -
I don’t mean to bring you down,
but I probably will anyway.
Hanging out by the water fountain
watching ants pour out of the sidewalk
I look up and all of a sudden
I can see into the sun and
I see particles of light
not yet exposed to
our contagious darkness
down here.
christopher bullock