Saturday, August 13, 2005

night blooms outside, folding the day inward. yr in a room full of ash, of people leaning against the walls like velvet drapes. you think of touching them, running yr fingers across their shoulders but realize their softness is an illusion. in actuality they’re gaunt things with glass knees that slice the air as they walk to the bathroom. you keep yr distance, on a couch where two girls curl by yr side, not talking with but at. you tilt yr head back & grin; you watch their words drip, brown at the touch of air, rot so soft sweet you can’t swallow. so sleepy, everything you touch slouches an inch closer to the ground. you ask can we go now? & the girl you came with tugs yr shirt yes yes. earlier she cooed with excitement, the moon seducing her silly, out so late; she was pure giddy, but now her eyes sag with sleeplessness. you grab the keys & as you speed home, you see a dead deer eaten from the inside out. you wonder what it must sound like to hit a deer. & you’ve wondered this everyday for a week.