threads
the longer i'm away the more the feelings fold up behind me and file away, all like a bad dream. they become distant and small, like an insignificant landmark from far away. a dot on the horizon as you drive away.
- - - - - - - - - - -
it's black and white. deep, deep blacks and the brightest whites. victorian. a boy and a girl.
she wears a long satin gown and her eyes are rimmed and dark, gorey-like. the back of his body is all that can be seen, facing her. a suit. just the outline of his body, a halation of white line and light.
she places black steel between her breasts and fires, emitting a long fluid, nearly elastic thread through and out the other side, flicking up into the air. it is the color of oil and reflects the sky.
the thread continues upward, flattening out into a ribbon and resting upon the stars. the moon floats into view and it has naomi's face. she wishes sweet dreams upon a darkened farmhouse and a barn down below.
night continues and the ribbon melts. little drops of black pelt down and settle along the fenceposts and sloping hills populated with tall grasses and fireflies. a little girl begins to fold up this entire world, staining her fingers with ink. blots on her dress. its like fashioning an airplane out of paper. something else but it collapses all the same.
back
home
2008 laudanum at 33