there is something about
walls
and man's
inborn need
to be surrounded by them
It's those who
grew up
not surrounded by them
that know best
Last night
was
for him
the first night spent
alone between four walls
in a long, long time
and it wasn't even
a jail cell
It was a
rented room in the basement
of a building
Small, narrow, yet big
with emptiness
Just a bed, a wardrobe,
a desk and
a chair
and nothing else was needed
to feel fulfilled
and to dream of
something so warm and wholesome
as a woman
sitting on a pillow
on the floor,
holding a cotton swab in one
hand and inviting with
the other, pointing to
her lap
Heaven
Four walls, man. Only four
walls and a break
from the madness outside
and there you have it
Heaven
She ordered drinks, but would take them in plastic cups so she could enjoy them outside the bar on the steps “She thinks she's too good for us,” said the other girls. “Doesn't wanna drink with losers.” “She's just crazy,” said another girl. “Leave her be.” “That's her art and the thing she's best at,” said another girl. “This girl, oh, she can out-crazy all the crazies. I like her. Love her. It wasn't that long ago when she was approached outside in the darkness by some thug-looking dude who invited her into the back alley and she agreed. But, she removed her clothes right there on the steps. An' pulled a goddamned switchblade from between her legs. Told the guy that she doesn't take money. Tongue, ear, eye, or finger, she told him. Asked, which would you like me to carve out and tuck neatly in my lady pocket…
they scolded the old man and threatened to kick him out of the neighborhood “You're stinking up the place, old fool!” But he only rocked in his chair and poured another glass and raised it to them in salute and drank and smiled in spite of their frowns He lived in the city of 770 universities. The city of intellectuals, of the highest, most educated, most elevated minds the world had to offer To live here one must be either a grade A student or a published and acknowledged author or artist The authorities allowed this old man on account of being a poet but the citizens, with all their education and knowledge and diplomas would never understand that decision Professors of philosophy offered him as example to the students. “This over here,” they've said, “is the stereotype of the man who stops searching for truth on account of taking…
standing naked on the wide window sill she struck a match and lit her cigarette and dragged deep listening to the tobacco sizzling inside and giving up smoke “It's not some special gift,” she says. “I don't hear things that others can't hear. It's just awareness. Being aware of the things others hear but never notice.” “Damn,” he said from the reflection in the window pane. “So everyone else is haunted. They hear and see it, but they just lack the awareness to acknowledge it?” She put her head against the glass and exhaled smoke on his reflection, painting his barb-wire limbs gray. Her good eye fixed on his snake head with a wet feather for tongue. She said, “That's right, love. Now, how about we go and set fire to a fire station?” “How will it be different from last time?” he asked She laughed. “It won't be. And…
time flies differently when you stand alone in a room and think about the past with regret Pigeons with glass shards in their wings, reflecting sunlight in their fall. That's how time moves lately “It's gotta be a long time ago,” he said. “I know it's gotta be a long time ago because the times I've thought about it were so damn numerous. I was just... Just walking back home when I saw her. On the side of the road, covered by her black hooded jacket. Black stockings on slim legs. In high, black boots with elevated soles. Her face totally concealed by the shade of the hood. Yet as I passed by her I saw the paleness of her features. Big eyes locked with mine. A cold snap in my very soul. I just... kept going. Too afraid to even look back. And the more I walked ahead and…
Yes, there's intimacy
and then there's the times you
get naked and drunk
and cuddle in bed
and tell each other things you'd never
tell sober
“Last time I got so drunk,” she
said, “I got my hands on
a poster with
a missing child and called the
number
and got under the blanket with
the phone,
started crying and said,
'Daddy, daddy, I miss youuu!”
It fucked up the guy who answered
the phone but... my crying
was genuine.
I really felt everything I've said.”
He just laughed
and hugged
her tighter
There would be no closer intimacy
than this
the door opened suddenly and it hit the poor dog who scowled and got out of the way before the woman entered "Oh, for fuck's sake!” she shouted Her hands were busy with shopping bags. They looked heavy and she looked tired and quite pissed and grew even more pissed when she laid eyes on her husband, in the living room, sprawled on the couch, buried under cigarette ashes and empty beer cans The house smelled of singed hairs from his knuckles and arms. Even burnt skin and clothes The small holes in his shorts looked like crawling cockroaches fighting over the crumbs in his lap He greeted his wife with a deep belching sound and closed his eyes "What the hell you doing?” she yelled, loud enough to make him open his eyes "Dying,” he said "What?” "Dying.” "Listen here, you piece of shit, I left the house hours…
it was darkening outside as he opened the beer and threw his old body on the rocking chair There was no TV in his house "It shows people,” he'd said. "An' I can't stand them.” He poured the beer into a glass and started rocking back and forth into his chair, looking at nothing and enjoying it When it was completely dark, the black cat came into the house through the hole in the broken window a limp gray fish big as a fallen leaf glistened in its mouth, reflecting the full moon outside "Welcome back,” he said to the cat as it laid the fish on the carpet near his feet and rolled on its back, exposing its belly He took the fish and smelled it and tossed it into the beer and shook the glass "Thank you,” he said. "That's enough protein for today.” He leaned forward in…
Daydreaming as a profession 