Circles

La plage plagued like pestilence, evoking dampened sheets of sweat, and all at once I remembered how we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in lust with each other; a lust mature enough to consume the all-too-childish notions of love. I daresay, we sung our bodies frenzied and electric, beholding the difference in years, the many years between us. And we wondered without words, with pastel and blurring images, the sorcery and subtlety of our addiction. O, how we both struggled…to lay to rest what demons dared to sever such a union. Of course, we held each other in our thoughts; with opaque pedal roses smudging at the roadside, in automobiles; in contrived conversation, there my voice called out to you: blow this banality, and come hither; zipping under midgeoned parking lot lights, there your eyes did stare, in the sinews of my squirming brain, long-lashed and longing –warming over this wretched corpse.

 

Schuby-schubes’ Piano Sonata No.20 in A Major on the headphones as I slither through parked cars, some of them containing cadavers with moving mouths, others inhabited by dead men with their dead friends and their dead wives in their dead lives.

I know, in this insufferable heat of summer night, as the wheels of my bicycle keep turning and the beads of perspiration keep pouring, that the hot breath of life does exhale in sighing sublimity, reminding me of death with its nothingness of abstinence. Smiling and going in circles like a dog chasing his own tail, I dig the drab and delve the drunk of  the moment with all its mediocre madness and overwhelming ecstasy of esoteric elegance.

∞