nb,bhy,g 6
by Scott Wesley Slavin


three times doubled over like a sicker in
New York in december in an alley of an un-
known street outside a window paned by snow
white dirt greed moneythatmakesyouhate bent

over like an undoubleplusgood signora with
snowflake bones of green somethingorotheriwouldratherignore
while wind plays the hichiriki fingers like
fingernails and an unabridged edition of The Immoralist

decaying between yogurt and capellini between
dinners that weren't very good fresh not even at
the factory where two women spoke no hollered till
they were more like horses than they already were
till they had said all that they could in that short
span where they could put two words together maybe three
maybe even a coherent sentence while bending over flour

ten year bellies embryonic children scars scars scars
smoking husbands that are lost to any flames not coming home till
seven or eight after dinner anyway all greased up like a piston or
a quarter pounder it depends on if it's bowling night or not leaving

twelve children lapping water in the streets with the dogs
too little pollution to really start a bonfire that will burn the cities down
or at least break a hydrant like the bombs in his mind like sitting
in class when they're going so fucking slow like her and that scumbag
actually dating riding his Kawasakiwannabejunk through the streets
so all her highclass friends can see that she can that she
really knows how or atleast can make believe for awhile

against all that opposition within her against all her
warning signals against against against because she hates
that what her parents think is good for her is what she likes
anyway because she can't dazzle them or evoke emotion either
way because it was all planned so planned and that's why this
must happen that's why it has to be this way ice in a bottle
and alot of flame black carpet to fly on dammit how good

must this get pale sun sky cloud freezingfrozenshiveringsolo
before it happens before such comic r8tion hits and two
days pass and warm meals and fireplaces and you with me only and
a little wind a breeze so your hair blows so our skins mingle
so I can take you on my mountainbikewanabekiller deep into
the forest away from all that steal for awhile to the Huron
river to a secret place to something more than I could
ever give you in civilization...



©1997 Cellar Door
last modified 1/20/97