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.


Side Effect I

It was like sleep but infested with pastel-coloured corpses and the smell of freshly cut metal. And soon the ‘sleep’ will lay in on my brain again and the hours will be lost. The number of minutes that are squandered is more than alarming. And the sound of the mammoth bell sends a shiver down the spine. Sow low as to be almost sub-aquatic; bigger than the moon and embracing all molecules bound in its course and beyond. You can dream a city. One with enough space and friends and even a place to stay. We used to live in a wonderful, late 19th century apartment building. High ceilings, tall windows providing an abundance of light. We’d wake naturally, with the sun. Our feet would grip the beautifully polished wood floors. A pot of tea. Pancakes. After lunch, a few friends would visit. They would bring a bottle of wine. We’d break out the cheese and crackers. All this time the bombs would be falling. Without fear, with much laughter and love, we held hands and counted the bomber planes as they darkened the sky.
When I woke, she was gone. She had never been. The world was gray. I was alone. I grieved for the loss of a woman I had never met. And I decided I was lucky even only to have dreamed such a life. When I shut my eyes I will hope to return. But I know that I will end up in an invented computer game, jumping from pixellated lily pads and not questioning it; at the mercy of my whimsical brain. And when I awake tomorrow, she will have gone. And in a few years time she will return, as deja vu, to break my heart again.