THIS IS NOT WHERE I REMEMBER BEING (1995)
when he awoke he was in the desert. “confound it!” he said, looking up at the sun. “this is not where I remember being,” his voice, slow, exact, trails off, “last...”
§§
he stood on the edge. the flowers were blooming at just the right time. here the rains can come every twenty five years.
§§
“how long have we been together?” he asks.
§§
he kisses you. It must have been 110º. your breasts seem different. “our lives seem to have something there,” speckled. “this will never last...”
§§
islands. floating. last night he dreamed of oceans. he stands up and dust himself off. a mirage, he murmurs, sweat...
§§
evening primrose... popcorn flowers...
§§
the little silver thread of lily shyly pops through the desert floor. “ the owls are in the distance....in my notebook I record a car speeding towards me” writes the lily...
§§
in the unnatural heat...seeds collect in the wind shadow. he let out a scream of “shadow! ” he screams... “happiness!” he whispers... he looks about he gasps for air, and cries “the stars are around my ankles”...he says
§§
the flowers bloom like hummingbirds you told him one night as you lay to rest the desert was cold the bed was always made hummingbirds were never made...our bed was always made of hummingbirds...
§§
“hey! look at that!” he screams. octillos: vibrant, red, tubular shaped. fuck you! you say again, again and again. (were they fighting?)
§§
let’s never do that again...it’s the perennials...they forgot to store enough water in their stems and roots...
§§
“it’s as though the world were spray-painted gold! “ it’s the middle of the day and we should be concerned about... but for the moment... it’s enough just to hear you say...happiness he writes in his notebook...shadow...
§§
as you read the newspaper, you tell him that 1973 was a banner year for death valley. 1988, too. wait! he says to himself, you can’t read...
§§
there’s a flower called ‘brown eyes.’ he looks through pictures in his wallet. hmmm...bellyflowers, fivespots, poppies...ah...there you are!
§§
there you are!
§§
a kiss. the heat and the light make the evening primrose rocket through the surface. more kisses again. he stares into your beautiful brown eyes. fuck me you scream. it’s a banner year for him: he adjusts his tie
§§
so, you free tonight? I ask. a single bubble rises to the surface of the water cooler...
§§
when he wakes up he is in the desert. ah...he smiles...this is where I remember being...
§§
the sound of a hummingbird...
all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007
§§
he stood on the edge. the flowers were blooming at just the right time. here the rains can come every twenty five years.
§§
“how long have we been together?” he asks.
§§
he kisses you. It must have been 110º. your breasts seem different. “our lives seem to have something there,” speckled. “this will never last...”
§§
islands. floating. last night he dreamed of oceans. he stands up and dust himself off. a mirage, he murmurs, sweat...
§§
evening primrose... popcorn flowers...
§§
the little silver thread of lily shyly pops through the desert floor. “ the owls are in the distance....in my notebook I record a car speeding towards me” writes the lily...
§§
in the unnatural heat...seeds collect in the wind shadow. he let out a scream of “shadow! ” he screams... “happiness!” he whispers... he looks about he gasps for air, and cries “the stars are around my ankles”...he says
§§
the flowers bloom like hummingbirds you told him one night as you lay to rest the desert was cold the bed was always made hummingbirds were never made...our bed was always made of hummingbirds...
§§
“hey! look at that!” he screams. octillos: vibrant, red, tubular shaped. fuck you! you say again, again and again. (were they fighting?)
§§
let’s never do that again...it’s the perennials...they forgot to store enough water in their stems and roots...
§§
“it’s as though the world were spray-painted gold! “ it’s the middle of the day and we should be concerned about... but for the moment... it’s enough just to hear you say...happiness he writes in his notebook...shadow...
§§
as you read the newspaper, you tell him that 1973 was a banner year for death valley. 1988, too. wait! he says to himself, you can’t read...
§§
there’s a flower called ‘brown eyes.’ he looks through pictures in his wallet. hmmm...bellyflowers, fivespots, poppies...ah...there you are!
§§
there you are!
§§
a kiss. the heat and the light make the evening primrose rocket through the surface. more kisses again. he stares into your beautiful brown eyes. fuck me you scream. it’s a banner year for him: he adjusts his tie
§§
so, you free tonight? I ask. a single bubble rises to the surface of the water cooler...
§§
when he wakes up he is in the desert. ah...he smiles...this is where I remember being...
§§
the sound of a hummingbird...
all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007
Comments