They smelled of death
As I walked past.
I could smell the grave
As they looked up at me
All hollow.
They were colorless
And grey
Sitting on a stoop
Smoking cigarettes.
Life was gone
Escaped.
It’s one thing to smell
Death by itself
But as a group
It was a little overwhelming
And retched
Like rotting teeth.
It started
To overcome me
A few feet away
As I was walking up to them.
It was very distinct.
I could smell
Hospital beds
And embalming fluids
The stink
Of
Foul breath
Escaping
With the smoke
From their menthols.
I did not smell menthol at all.
I smelled death.
The maggots were there
Working away on
Their insides
Chewing
Charcoal wasted flesh
Bloating up from
Death’s gasses.
They were not long
For this world.
I walked past.
A few feet away
My son
Who was just behind me
Asked
“Dad, what was that smell?”
I turned and looked at him.
“That is the smell of Death my friend.”
“And worse, it was the smell of stranger’s Death.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ worse than the smell of stranger’s Death, because it is unfamiliar.”
“Best to steer clear of that stuff.”
He gave me a nod
Like he understood
And we kept walking.
It was sunny out
And we were going to get
Our hair cut.
But we avoided Death
Like we were walking
Around a puddle.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
The Blue Bottle Glass Girl
The crickets were out and mad
With noise
When I first set eyes on her.
The carney was settled comfortably into
A dewey glen
On top of a small wooded mountain.
For a modest fee
I was able to see the small travelling circus
Under generator lights
Within a single roundtop tent.
That particular night they did not draw
A very large crowd
Due to a misty constant rain.
It was a renaissance circus
By all means and
One in the most classical sense.
They made their money
Selling tickets for performances
And serving tasty gypsy food
From small wagons and stalls
As well as hawking photographs
Of the star performers
That would sign them
For a little extra.
So
They were a little worse for wear
Needing a shower
And a shave.
Their costumes
Looked rather threadbare
Under the spotlights.
They were of European descent
Many related
Sharing trailers and dressing rooms
With other talent
Gathered like clover and dust
Along the way.
They each took great pride
With their individual performance
As well as that of their troupe
And when it came down to it
Many were seen
Helping other acts.
They were a crew of
High wire walkers
Ballerinas that danced with ponies
Sword swallowers
Clowns that performed miniature silent theatrical pieces
Inbetween the main acts
Agile dogs
Gymnasts
A strong man that took a cannonball to the chest
And a ‘real’ Russian princess that could contort herself
Into many displays
Including being shut into
A tiny little box.
I was impressed by the circus
And went for the blow.
I bypassed the obvious...
The midgets
The bearded
The transgendered
And deformed.
I had no interest in seeing the Fat Lady
Or the Snake Charmer.
The girl I wanted to see
Was advertised on the broadsides as
‘Blue Bottle Glass Girl’
And she had my interest right away.
I paid my entrance
Without much thought.
I waited outside
While there was a let up
In the rain
As the talker
Did his job
Selling tickets to her show.
“Blue bottle glass girl!”
“Her skin is fragile and hard as glass!”
“A great irony!”
“She is a woman of diligent persistance...
As she cannot move like you or I...
She was birthed with enormous discomfort
To her mother
And has had to deal with her deformity
From a very young age.”
“Imagine growing up with the will of a young girl
But having the skin of fragile handblown glass!”
“She glows blue, see for yourself! Just one dollar!”
“She glows blue and is made of glass!”
“You’ll tell all of your friends that you saw the Blue Bottle Glass Girl.”
“You’ll be the envy of your cul de sac.”
When they had enough people
We were led into the small tent.
There was a large vitrine
Filled with bubbling luminescent water
On the left hand side.
I took a seat with the audience
On rickety wooden chairs
And watched her come in
Being escorted in a wheelchair.
She didn’t move
And appeared frozen.
There were obvious blue spotlights on
As we were told that
She was unable to move...
That her skin was as hard as glass
And for those of us
That would like to pay
An extra quarter...
We could come up and see for ourselves
Exactly what he was talking about.
The same man from outside
Went on about her condition
Telling tales
And taking our quarters.
But I will tell you
That
Firstly
I paid my quarter
And secondly
That I touched
The Blue Bottle Glass Girl
And that her skin
Was hard and smooth
As hand blown glass.
It appeared to be blue.
But whether that was the lighting or not
I couldn’t tell.
After everyone that paid
Their quarter
Touched her and stared into her
Dead cold eyes
Seated themselves again
The talker went on.
“There is a mystery to the woman that all of you fortunate people
have just touched and felt”
“If not cared for properly, she could just fall and break like a wine glass or a
porcelain tea cup”.
“She would not be free like you or I in any manner, imprisoned in her own body”.
The man behind the wheelchair started to push her behind the vitrine.
“The amazing thing about this dear creature...”
The man lifts her out of the wheelchair and throws her into the water.
“Is that she IS free like you or myself when she is in water!”.
The Blue Bottle Glass Girl floated in the water
Before me
In that tank.
And then she moved.
She moved without effort
Like a mermaid would.
Fast.
Her actions were as natural as a fish
As she swam
Doing circles and figure eights
In that large aquarium
Only coming up for air.
She was beautiful as she swam
In the cool light
And I never questioned
Whether her skin
Was really blue or not.
It didn’t matter.
Something truely miraculous happened.
I know.
I was there.
I paid the quarter
And touched the flesh of the
Blue Bottle Glass Girl.
We were ushered out
While she was still in the tank.
Many of us perplexed
And wanting to know
How the transition was performed.
But I left knowing
That there was no trick.
That it was real.
That she would be lifted
Back out of the water
Into a wheelchair
And that her skin would harden gradually
She would have to be spoon fed
And nurtured
Inbetween acts.
That while she was out on the road
She would have to be thrown
Into a confining bathtub
Just to survive.
Just to have some comfort
Some freedom.
But that night
As I left the tent...
I knew all of that...
And I walked out into an evening
Fresh from rain
And the crickets were out...
And they were noisy.
With noise
When I first set eyes on her.
The carney was settled comfortably into
A dewey glen
On top of a small wooded mountain.
For a modest fee
I was able to see the small travelling circus
Under generator lights
Within a single roundtop tent.
That particular night they did not draw
A very large crowd
Due to a misty constant rain.
It was a renaissance circus
By all means and
One in the most classical sense.
They made their money
Selling tickets for performances
And serving tasty gypsy food
From small wagons and stalls
As well as hawking photographs
Of the star performers
That would sign them
For a little extra.
So
They were a little worse for wear
Needing a shower
And a shave.
Their costumes
Looked rather threadbare
Under the spotlights.
They were of European descent
Many related
Sharing trailers and dressing rooms
With other talent
Gathered like clover and dust
Along the way.
They each took great pride
With their individual performance
As well as that of their troupe
And when it came down to it
Many were seen
Helping other acts.
They were a crew of
High wire walkers
Ballerinas that danced with ponies
Sword swallowers
Clowns that performed miniature silent theatrical pieces
Inbetween the main acts
Agile dogs
Gymnasts
A strong man that took a cannonball to the chest
And a ‘real’ Russian princess that could contort herself
Into many displays
Including being shut into
A tiny little box.
I was impressed by the circus
And went for the blow.
I bypassed the obvious...
The midgets
The bearded
The transgendered
And deformed.
I had no interest in seeing the Fat Lady
Or the Snake Charmer.
The girl I wanted to see
Was advertised on the broadsides as
‘Blue Bottle Glass Girl’
And she had my interest right away.
I paid my entrance
Without much thought.
I waited outside
While there was a let up
In the rain
As the talker
Did his job
Selling tickets to her show.
“Blue bottle glass girl!”
“Her skin is fragile and hard as glass!”
“A great irony!”
“She is a woman of diligent persistance...
As she cannot move like you or I...
She was birthed with enormous discomfort
To her mother
And has had to deal with her deformity
From a very young age.”
“Imagine growing up with the will of a young girl
But having the skin of fragile handblown glass!”
“She glows blue, see for yourself! Just one dollar!”
“She glows blue and is made of glass!”
“You’ll tell all of your friends that you saw the Blue Bottle Glass Girl.”
“You’ll be the envy of your cul de sac.”
When they had enough people
We were led into the small tent.
There was a large vitrine
Filled with bubbling luminescent water
On the left hand side.
I took a seat with the audience
On rickety wooden chairs
And watched her come in
Being escorted in a wheelchair.
She didn’t move
And appeared frozen.
There were obvious blue spotlights on
As we were told that
She was unable to move...
That her skin was as hard as glass
And for those of us
That would like to pay
An extra quarter...
We could come up and see for ourselves
Exactly what he was talking about.
The same man from outside
Went on about her condition
Telling tales
And taking our quarters.
But I will tell you
That
Firstly
I paid my quarter
And secondly
That I touched
The Blue Bottle Glass Girl
And that her skin
Was hard and smooth
As hand blown glass.
It appeared to be blue.
But whether that was the lighting or not
I couldn’t tell.
After everyone that paid
Their quarter
Touched her and stared into her
Dead cold eyes
Seated themselves again
The talker went on.
“There is a mystery to the woman that all of you fortunate people
have just touched and felt”
“If not cared for properly, she could just fall and break like a wine glass or a
porcelain tea cup”.
“She would not be free like you or I in any manner, imprisoned in her own body”.
The man behind the wheelchair started to push her behind the vitrine.
“The amazing thing about this dear creature...”
The man lifts her out of the wheelchair and throws her into the water.
“Is that she IS free like you or myself when she is in water!”.
The Blue Bottle Glass Girl floated in the water
Before me
In that tank.
And then she moved.
She moved without effort
Like a mermaid would.
Fast.
Her actions were as natural as a fish
As she swam
Doing circles and figure eights
In that large aquarium
Only coming up for air.
She was beautiful as she swam
In the cool light
And I never questioned
Whether her skin
Was really blue or not.
It didn’t matter.
Something truely miraculous happened.
I know.
I was there.
I paid the quarter
And touched the flesh of the
Blue Bottle Glass Girl.
We were ushered out
While she was still in the tank.
Many of us perplexed
And wanting to know
How the transition was performed.
But I left knowing
That there was no trick.
That it was real.
That she would be lifted
Back out of the water
Into a wheelchair
And that her skin would harden gradually
She would have to be spoon fed
And nurtured
Inbetween acts.
That while she was out on the road
She would have to be thrown
Into a confining bathtub
Just to survive.
Just to have some comfort
Some freedom.
But that night
As I left the tent...
I knew all of that...
And I walked out into an evening
Fresh from rain
And the crickets were out...
And they were noisy.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Date Night At The Movies
She tells me that she wants to go see a movie.
“What about this one?”
She says.
“Melancholia by Lars Von Triers.”
“I love Charlotte Gainsbourg!”
“It’s still in production.”
I tell her.
“It’s not even completed...Who knows when and if it will be?”
“It depends on how depressed he gets.”
“But I like the way you think.”
So I propose to her
That I will take her
To that movie
When it shows here
In this country
At some independent theater
In some nameless city.
But she will have to dress up
In some of her finest lingerie
And put on only a raincoat
Or jacket
Over that
And that I’m going to bind her wrists
Behind her
In the bedroom
Before we leave the house.
I tell her that I will open
The car door for her
And help her get in
Holding her arms
And balancing her
Carefully
As she folds back into the passenger seat.
I can see the excitement
In her eyes
As I tell her
How we will drive to the theater
That night...
She so naughty
And beautiful
Sitting across from me.
I’ll park the car in a garage
A block from the theater
And help her get out.
I’ll fall into her eyes
Which is dangerous
And kiss her long.
She will start to get worked up
And I’ll stop
Leading her to the exit
Arms still tied behind her.
We will walk up to the ticket booth
And purchase two tickets.
I’ll hold the door for her
And lead her inside.
To anyone that is curious and observant
They will be able to see everything
That is going on.
A well dressed man
Leading a pretty woman
In high heels
Wearing a simple but expensive coat
With her hands bound behind her.
We are both confident and assure
Paying them no attention.
We smell good.
We’ll stand in line at the concession stand
And when it is our turn
I’ll order soft drinks
And popcorn.
We’ll enter the theater itself
And take our seats.
I’ll be possessed by her
Sitting
Her posture upright
And alert.
I’ll put the straw to her lips
And tell her to take a sip
Asking her to
“Please not ruin your lipstick.”
“We will ruin it later, baby.”
I’ll feed her popcorn
One by one
Kernel by kernel
Placing it directly inside of her mouth.
She’ll chew it slowly
Seductively
Teasing me.
She will wait for me to offer her
Another sip of drink
Her eyes fixed upon the screen
Just ahead.
And we’ll sit there
In that dark theater
In some nameless city.
She with her hands
Bound behind her
Me kissing and touching her
While we watch
“Melancholia”
By
Lars Von Triers.
His masterpiece
Completed.
“What about this one?”
She says.
“Melancholia by Lars Von Triers.”
“I love Charlotte Gainsbourg!”
“It’s still in production.”
I tell her.
“It’s not even completed...Who knows when and if it will be?”
“It depends on how depressed he gets.”
“But I like the way you think.”
So I propose to her
That I will take her
To that movie
When it shows here
In this country
At some independent theater
In some nameless city.
But she will have to dress up
In some of her finest lingerie
And put on only a raincoat
Or jacket
Over that
And that I’m going to bind her wrists
Behind her
In the bedroom
Before we leave the house.
I tell her that I will open
The car door for her
And help her get in
Holding her arms
And balancing her
Carefully
As she folds back into the passenger seat.
I can see the excitement
In her eyes
As I tell her
How we will drive to the theater
That night...
She so naughty
And beautiful
Sitting across from me.
I’ll park the car in a garage
A block from the theater
And help her get out.
I’ll fall into her eyes
Which is dangerous
And kiss her long.
She will start to get worked up
And I’ll stop
Leading her to the exit
Arms still tied behind her.
We will walk up to the ticket booth
And purchase two tickets.
I’ll hold the door for her
And lead her inside.
To anyone that is curious and observant
They will be able to see everything
That is going on.
A well dressed man
Leading a pretty woman
In high heels
Wearing a simple but expensive coat
With her hands bound behind her.
We are both confident and assure
Paying them no attention.
We smell good.
We’ll stand in line at the concession stand
And when it is our turn
I’ll order soft drinks
And popcorn.
We’ll enter the theater itself
And take our seats.
I’ll be possessed by her
Sitting
Her posture upright
And alert.
I’ll put the straw to her lips
And tell her to take a sip
Asking her to
“Please not ruin your lipstick.”
“We will ruin it later, baby.”
I’ll feed her popcorn
One by one
Kernel by kernel
Placing it directly inside of her mouth.
She’ll chew it slowly
Seductively
Teasing me.
She will wait for me to offer her
Another sip of drink
Her eyes fixed upon the screen
Just ahead.
And we’ll sit there
In that dark theater
In some nameless city.
She with her hands
Bound behind her
Me kissing and touching her
While we watch
“Melancholia”
By
Lars Von Triers.
His masterpiece
Completed.
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