Flowers in December
Mazzy Star

Before I let you down again
I just want to see you in your eyes
I wouldn't have taken everything out on you
I only thought you could understand
They say every man goes blind in his heart
And they say everybody steals somebody's heart away
And I've got nothing more to say about it
Nothing more than you would need
Send me your flowers of your December
Send me your dreams of your candy wine
I've got just one thing I can't give you
Just one more thing of mine
They say every man goes blind in his heart
They say everybody steals somebody's heart away
And I've been wondering why you let me down
And I've been taking it all for granted

dimension

last night, we built a fort out of old bed sheets -- little rose buds, giant yellow roses, bamboo, retro squares. we sat inside, on a bare mattress with a light between us. we both wore silk kimonos, and sipped red wine from cracked tea cups. i told you about a balloon that i discovered. it looked like an ordinary balloon -- lavender, full of helium, with a dark purple string. but at night, if  i climbed to the top of a black obelisk in the middle of a japanese city (where it waited for me) i could hold the string and fly anywhere. i could fly in and out of cities, into day, into night, even into memories and time. i flew to a farm, where boys were playing marbles on a dusty road. i flew to buenos aires, and watched a boat race.

but then, one day, someone told me that my balloon was dangerous. that night, when i went to fly again, the string disintegrated in my hands, and the balloon flickered and faded like a face i knew but couldn't remember.

i told you my story, about the balloon. you tackled me, wrestled me, my wine spilled all over the mattress. i laughed. you kissed me: i love you. kissed me again: i love you. and again: i love you.

cherry

ingredients.

torridly, recklessly.

leave it unedited, uncensored, unsigned. cold dough, incubating in a straightjacket.

jars and jars of unlabeled matter.

stop abruptly, in the middle, without explanation. leave hanging indents.

stop before the words can catch their breath, before it can relax and sigh and stretch like a cat in the sun. claws catching on curtains. accidental amusement.

it should be over in a flash, a cherry on the highest branch--bird bait--flanked with pie pans to deflect and entice.

it says 'come hither, taste me'. then, when you're close enough to see the lust in your unblinking eyes, eight seconds elapsed, you see yourself: a greedy swallow, pecking holes in perfect cheeks, drawing blood.

let it alone. let it dry. let it crawl back home to a door left wide open, with nothing inside. pin it on a clothesline--page after wet page, great white sails on an urban plot, bleached prayer flags--rising like a hint of infinity and crashing into power lines.





 

the other shore

“Together they had overcome the daily incomprehension, the instantaneous hatred, the reciprocal nastiness, and fabulous flashes of glory in the conjugal conspiracy. It was a time when they both loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other moral trials, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore.” 

 -GGM