March 20, 2013

To the music of a rusted toybox, we danced. A busted ballerina danced. In the corner of my eye. I just want to forget for a while, he said. About what? You're good, he said. But his hands hovered over me; shaking; so I knew I was in control.

To the music of a wind-up bird, we danced. The b-flat was broken and it pissed me off; just little spots in the music, like a dotted line or discontinuous graph. I just want us to forget for a while, he said. I want you to come visit me in your uniform, I said; he blinked. I've seen in them in the street. They look nice. You would look so nice. He banged his shin on the piano.

You don't know who I am, do you? I said. You're a woman; I'm a man. We're both human beings. You're an idiot, I said. I know. You could have me if you want, I said. You could take me. He made a face; but I don't want it to be like that. He took my hand.

I liked how his uniform inspired me with both revulsion—and awe. It made me realize, I have always been attracted to these things. Medals and metal and blood and guts, guts. Maybe I thought they were all toy soldiers that I could lock away in my toy box. They should have lied to you, I told him. They shouldn't have prepared you for parades and firing squads. They should have prepared you for—dust and diamonds. I don't want much, he said. I just want to sit here and talk. Like a sane person. I hid my face in his shoulder and laughed. Don't cry, he said.

You're going to kill me aren't you? Why? It happens all the time, he said. One of us goes out with a woman, next thing he turns up in a snowdrift. Plink; plink; the b-flat was off. They'll kill you if you have sex with me, I told him, you know that? No they won't, he said. They let us have these little things. But I'm a degenerate matrix, I said. A matrix with determinant zero. He blinked. Isn't sex a thing two people do? I have a knife, I said.

I have a gun, he said. And that wins. Oh, so that's what that is. I toyed with the decoration on his chest; he grabbed my hand. Please, please, he plead, please don't let it be like this. They'll kill you, I said, they'll kill you. No. They won't. Yes they will, I said, they're right outside and can't you hear them? He turned his head and I grabbed his gun and I kissed him as hard as I could.

Once—I was lost—to the point—of disgust.
I held—in my sight—lack of vision—lack of light.
I held hard. I held fast. Mercy me—never last.

Then—in the dust—all the things we discussed
were thrown into the wind—so at last—we begin.
So we fall hard. We fall fast. Mercy me—never last.

Song: Point of Disgust by Low