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Spiel |
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no curbing hoping for a solid curb to set your feet on as you swing your uncertain thighs toward unfamiliar odds you need something rock hard not like the fevered scripts you've writ then unraveled thinking/wishing you knew exactly what this will be like maybe uhh maybe not maybe the little shits down the road will stare as you arrive sense that you are up to something get their moms whispering about you because your license plates are from a faraway town maybe an old yellow dog will greet you sniff you in a too familiar way like family bring you to your senses and make you wonder why you made such a big deal out of choosing which shirt to wear - the peach and pink tie dye? the denim? the dead? a dirt driveway will be sound enough once you turn off your key release your seat belt step on it yeah, dirt'll have to do but what if his veins roll as you make the poke? he won't resist will he? best pull over at qwikstop along the way pick up a bottle of aquafina to keep you hydrated caffeinate your brain with a jumbo hershey start smoking again if you need to you used to love the rush of menthols you've got a damn serious hump to mount ok write it like this: ok there's no curbing his driveway doesn't amount to much dirt no might be mud ok it might be mud you stuff your histories and the I V bag beneath your arm swing your thighs confidently to the left as an old yellow dog dawdles toward you sniffs you blood rushes your jugular your face is the color of your shirt before you washed it the first time to hell with all the scripts you've written you are here you can't feel your knees ok so you fuddle it and you drop your equipment as you stoop to separate it from the mud you realize a tall gaunt man hovers like a question mark says yer just in time this is not the first time you've heard his voice but as for this first sighting of the depth of his eyes well... the old yellow dog breathes the man's crotch then yours slowly draws the two of you through the mud to the front door of the guy's house where the heavy knuckle of his right thumb presses hard against the bone of your left hip as you poke around and attempt to prick his vein where you find tough scar tissue from previous pricks so you must pry again and squeeze diligently to locate viable flesh he is receptive says he is grateful you have come sorry you had to drive from so far away just for this you are aware that he notices your blush he opens like a baby robin begs a worm. ohh those hands calluses like those steel ribs on the dam at rusk reservoir where you used to go to make your peace and palms big as scoop shovels big enough to support your buns big enough to make you glad you ventured out on mud big enough to carry you all the way home all the way home all the way home big enough to carry you all the way home you droop the I V hose and bag from the tall wrought iron lampstand behind his comfort chair release the hose clamp as you disappear into his arm but you won't be staying long Searching Thunder Thunder misfires. Shoots a nail through his knuckle - hollers to the boys below to heft up another square of shingles. And a crowbar to rip his thumb off the roof. Howls sumpin come along grab ahole a me as Gomez suddenly shows with a sixpak of Bud and the bar then steps on Thunder's iron hand for ballast as he dumps a Bud over his face to chill him out. Thunder counts all his women to the throb shootin up his arm - ohh woe ohhh oh honey wat cha dooin ta me counts seven fifteen thirty-five Sees the hard blue of cold rivers as Gomez splits bone from steel. AGAIN! Thunder shouts to the thrill. Drops and spreads his rough-boned frame across a sun-drenched square of tile-red shingles. Singes his thorough shoulders. Stares straight into sun. Sucks his thumb plus the salt of his lip - oh honey wat cha doooin ta me - Where his head was when he drove the fuckin nail through his knuckle and - and that bitch's phone call. Sayin she'd been searchin for a man like him. Sayin she'd always wanted to be nailed on a rooftop with all the world watching. Sayin she'd read all his poems in a wet dream he was pretty good hot in fact sayin she was watchin him right now. Sayin how she looked real good in peach. You know. The color of ready flesh. That rooftop bitch - searchin for him. that's how it happened [Index] |
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Thunder Sandwich #26 - Summer/Fall 2005 |
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