i lie, licking my wounds

by dschapman

there is a beautiful blue sky today, and the atmosphere is positively ringing with optimism! i’ve seen such days like this before, but i never thought i’d see one again before i died. our thoughts reach out like radar and detect the goodwill of men and children across the continent. i can’t think think the thoughts i usually think. the air pressure is too high; or maybe too low. i’ve tried growing old gracefully, and i have already failed; it is time to throw a tantrum. i will abuse you; do not question my sincerity there. but today is not the day. today is a day for cottonmouth blues and carousel songs; for ice cream, spilt or unspilt; for big, beautiful babe blue eyes, sound asleep in the backseat of a chevrolet. she’s a queen in her cot and the mistress of shoreditch. the burns running along her back look painful but even when you bite them she never cries. today is one of those lemongrass days, that we spent in a splendid and self-induced haze, a clearer understanding; you can take me, or you can leave me; someone better will come along and take me home. when i am angry i spit. when i am insulting i spit on your shoes. don’t make me spit on your shoes.

aging, once out of the question, is impossibly eminent and threatening to overtake me. i will lose myself soon in this mitosis of self and soul. you will find me hanging over a bathroom stall, my pants down around my ankles, a gin and tonic in my right hand (the dirty hand; the hand i drink with, eat with, finger myself with, clean my teeth with, wipe myself clean with, scratch under my arms with, cook with, turn the pages with, clean my ear with, rub my eyes with, scratch my eczema with, blow kisses with, arm wrestle with, roll dice with, style my hair with, clean my glasses with, catch baseballs with (or i would, if there were any baseballs to catch), cover my mouth when i cough with, rub my feet with, ring the doorbell with, change the channel with, counterfeit currency with, taste the ragu sauce with, draw circles lightly on her back with, carried the cross across the country with, stopped the bullet which was speeding for your face with, stand on my head with, choke you by the neck with, hold up all the planet with, hit my woman with, aim my gun with, caress you in the dark with, wipe the tears from your eye with, pull the blanket over your shoulders when you shiver with…).

-sleep with me, mother, for i am getting lonely. or i will sleep with you, on the floor, at the foot of the master bed. i am close enough to you from here.

-but son, the air conditioner will keep you awake from down there…

i worry for my friends who never notice the weather. what else is there but the sun?