Saturday, June 27, 2009

5 motionless morning pieces

all sizes, chicagojulieelizabeth

____1. romance
the first thing he notices is there's sand in his hair. it feels gritty. his lips are dry and he thinks it might be wrong to open them. he breathes out his nose. his body emits a strange sound, like a fan just turned on. she's still asleep. even wind feels far away. god it's cold. and blue. his stupor fades and he starts to feel his back, strained a little to fit the contours of her body. she's still asleep. she fell asleep first. a car passes by on the road. it sounds huge. gargantuan. an untimely earthquake. he sits up, opens his mouth and inhales deeply. counts till 21, 22, 23, exhales in a huge gasp. she turns onto her front and makes a little noise. he'd wake her, but can't think why. he rubs his hands through his hair and shakes out some of the sand. sleeping by the side of the road, jesus. he spends the next 14 minutes staring at the dark inky green of a small pile of bottles. glass always feels soo unreal, he doesn't dare touch them. or his face. or her. a gust of wind passes, her hair would be indistinguishable from the other weeds. yellow and scraggly and a little bit stiff. he rubs his eyes which water for no reason. another car, another earthquake. he'd stand up and go find a tree to pee by, but it's too much effort.

____2. sarabande
the morning is bright. hints of yellow. like lemons. like sorbet. it's fresh, like crushed up ice. it's like a dog that wants to play with you and jumps at your feet. like a friendly baby. it sits outside my window, panting softly with its paws out. i open my blinds a little and slide open the window. smells like a tomb here, yesyes, of course, welcome in. welcome, come in come inalready. i sit on my couch and write and do my very best to ignore myself and take pleasure in it.
____my eyes sting from too little sleep. from grievances i can't pinpoint. i hate morning, i hate it.

____3. gymnopedie
he can't think what to do when he wakes up. there's no real ritual to anything. he lies there and stares at his piano a while. why he has a piano besides his bed is another story. involves too much geometry that story, don't worry about it. he stares at his piano. freshly dusted it shines. a personal black hole. a too-large music box. the dreamsicle. a 10-fingered dance. the chorister gatherer... like someone picking flowers (which i've never done) or walking by the beach collecting sea-shells. he plays my funny valentine and sings in a throaty morning voice that doesn't hit a single note straight-on. then he stops and slouches on his chair. (if only time could do the same).

____4. prelude in c# minor
coffee sounds funny when you brew it. like peeing. she likes her feet on the floor. only when the floor's not too dirty. right now she can feel little bits of things underfoot. sticking to her soles and in between her toes or whatever. still. it makes movement real. (at least more real). (at least makes it an imagineable possibility). she hugs herself a little. the sun's behind clouds so the morning air is white. saintly. like milk diluted with water. or a skyfull of hospital closets. somewhere a car beeps. she wants to hop up on the counter. (at least take her teamug and throw it like a fastball into the front door). instead she paces in front of the fridge. the one-arm of a metronome. she won't have clocks in her house she hates the ticktick. why won't the dishes do themselves already? her face is pale. i'll brush my teeth. that will make time pass a little. [she goes].

when we were small we'd wake early and take the flimsy plastic container full of cookies. watch music videos on tv. i can't remember how my feet looked back then, i know my hands looked similar. there's a picture, just one, of someone's face, my hands holding her hair up. i know it's my hand. it's a strange thing to know. it takes a strange belief, an irrational certainty. like that magic exists. or god. or giant squid.
____my friend has a mannequin in her room. what a strange thing to let into your space. like a materialised ghost. it's only time away from turning into a real-person. it'll just ask for food. and take up space on the couch. and wear slightly awkward pants and contribute to the sounds of the night.
____- she's the third to.
____- what?
____- kiss me.
____- ____but not really. they keep kissing my lips, but off to the side of them a little. what does it mean?
____- who's done it?
____- everyone i speak to. when they walk past.
____- dude i don't know what you're talking about.

when i was young the alarm would beep. i'd get up. put on my uniform and run for the train. i was late always late. i don't have an alarm anymore. and when i wake up,

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