Side Effect II

The night dissolved and the daylight clotted the blackness. A sickly sky. The air, however, was good. My body was not. The drugs had left a chemical taste at the back of the throat. And all I thought about was whether the message would find her.
My head filled with questions, doubts and fears like electric spermatozoa.
A pool of water with bubble of petrol. Around the pool are hundreds of candles balanced on tall pedestals. And the wind began to pick up.
When the questions begin they usually don’t stop until a small pile of flesh is torn away. Between the teeth, over the mountain and into the deep, gray sea. This beauty won’t know how much I love her. It’s too painful to say. The message exists only in my head. The basso throats, the gin soaked carpet. The sky lit up with bombs. Small thoughts made into enormous, defective buildings.
Tongue in knots filled with devotion. There to stay. To burrow inside and fester until transformed into regret.
Everything you can ever say shot out of the sky like a bird with twigs stuffed in its beak. As it flaps in its own waste, the grass swallows it up, as though breathing, into the deep, gray earth. All is fire, all is light; the pride of the heart, still swollen, persuading the mouth to express its heat; the ice of the mind jabbing sharp icicles through the arteries, slowing the blood. You wonder when it will happen. And you know it never will. And yet there is always a chance.
*     *     *
The door creaked. The tables were dirty. The food was good. The waitress was better. My glass was empty. She held the bottle over my glass. She looked at me. I put my hand over the glass. She poured the drink over my hand. Then she got down on her knees, the wheels of her roller skates still whirring, and licked off the booze with a cold, silky tongue.


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