Violin's Void @ireceive-blog - Tumblr Blog

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who have i been talking to

when my mind wanders I always talk to you. I stare in the mirror and I have a conversation with you. I don't know who you are. You've always been there. I used to pray to you. You aren't god. You've never been god. You've been barbie(s). I'll never miss you. sometimes I think about what you think of me. what could you think of me?

in time

how many times have I told you to leave me alone? I've been standing here, waiting, letting my thoughts tick across a screen. They are raining sideways.

EDIT

Leaning back into a turf, glazing out

into gauze. 3 middle ear bones, the better

to melt you with. One emphatic phlox voice

makes you think of the stress of the tongue- not

to tap at - to bang out like a Bewick’s

wren in proportion to its size. Makes you

think of the sea spray like bubbling semen

puttering on silicates. The blue

mold that binds cheese in the center on out

pounds up frothing like a Doberman. Wind

will scratch at your eardrums, lick them with salt.

Land break.

Oak to bring out your color. Gold light for

the yellow in your teeth. There’s something

about your 2-ranked equitant leaves and

zygomorphic symmetry that doesn’t

add up. Oh, you, hawkmoths. Long and short

proboscids. Lay down scents of jasmine on

your appendages- wait till dusk to unswell

your guard cells and let me in. Some mutants

are timeless and I’ll see to it that you

get yours. By the squiggles of your skull, the

texture, I’ll tell you the day you will die.

Screen for the mice, death’s face, ache outward with

your pig’s nose. I’ll see to it. I’ll suffuse

you with anticoagulants, you’ll lose

me on the hunt to the haunt and I’ll pile

your bones. Light pulse of 30 minutes. Far

Red. Shift your phase. Turn off expression of

C genes, sepallata 3. I know you

are blind, but you still have ganglion cells.

You express melanopsin. Super

chiasmatic intact. You’re fine. You are

fine. So which one of you is real. This is

a time I never lived in.

#superchiasmatic #light pulse #bewicks wren #lolita rip off #biology degree doesn't mean much

why do I

when I want to write something. nothing died. nothing died. nothing died. nothing died. something changed. and when it changed it wasn't there anymore. when my brain starts to think up the words to form them and assemble them. i feel the blood rush to my head, my arms get weak. start shaking. I'm shaking.

something that i lost once

words

Ghost ranch

can you tell I went back in time

#timecrimes #time travel

a terrible part and another bad thing and part 2

they were laughing out loud. their cheeks hurt from all that smiling. contrast and compare. feeling closely related to primates. sometimes staring at reality just doesnt fit. cant seem to shake that ultimately biased perception. it isnt a sense only. it is a force. and i cant shake it. eyes will get heavy. sand will pile up. guilt endless. associations are everywhere. dont have to look about tat tall. remember to look both ways. where does that get a kid in life? across the street, maybe. paranoid, absolutely. this bias! it is unnerving. always lurking in the dark waiting. pounce and ruin a perfectly average day. hearing over what you try to box yourself in with is odd. people socializing. kicking a bottle probably. sometimes i feel soooooooooooooooooo. i dont tthink ill ever be satisfied with myself. look up. at the sky. it is running away from your gaze. cant tolerate sucha shrewd stare. be glad that you have that power. to see a tree for what it is. twisting defiantly upward. a sickly stance - bent near broken. you should let your eyes be your canvas. everything will bea masterpiece. heartwrenching winds blow through the dead leaves. rustling with more malicious intent than classmates whispers. the whole world, all of nature is pointing a finger at you. and the clouds wont stop to look back. again you go unrecognized. but that is the least of your worries i presume. your weary little body needs rest - and yet - you persist. you can let off you know. clouds tuffs of fluffy white air escape your grasp and the lighting shifts. blaring to calming. and you breath. it isnt difficult to reflect when such a vast expanse of sky is there right in front of you. light up world let me look at you. every now and again passing a long since dead animal carcas lies mutilated reeking on the side of the highway. a feast for flies. and afeastforg o d. i am flying by the world. my hair whips around wildly entangling into a perpetual knot. it is all too exhilarating. and you just smile off out into the lush forests surrounding the roads. shades of green permeate. the sun is high in the sky. i cant bear to look at it even for a moment. i hope these sunglasses will suffice until dusk. the remaining miles are many and we must finish quickly. but idecide to find a hotel and bring an end to the scorching daylight. you've drifted off to sleep by the time i pull into an underlying fluorescent haven. prices are decent and quality deplorable. like the shades, it will do. a rising sun's rays signal morning and i dress. mechanically with purpose. i let you sleep. but the matter at hand is pressing and after whiling away a few lonely half-hours by the dusty window sill watching the freeway overpass and the passengers of the cars passing by who stare in my direction longingly without blinking, oh i wake you. hurriedly we leave after you are ready. once again i am at the wheel of this bloodied machine. the dashed lines flash like an old rickety movie they're all the same, but there is something deeper there. i can't find it. youve just finished writing the first chapter in your nnovel. you are beaming. 'lets celebrate' breakfast for dinner and healthy portions of dessert. we talk about the enticing smell of syrup as i merge onto the fereeway. ive been speeding most of the way, but no cop has pulled me over. so i get away with quite a lot. when night falls, you cant stop looking at the stars. in teh middle of nowhere you can see so much. 'beautiful,' i hear you say, ' whats your favorite?' 'favorite what?' 'star' 'i dont know. hadnt thought about it really. what is urs?' "beetelgeuse' youve thought of everything i think. besides the looming presence of our eventual deed, i cant help but smile this might be the happiest ive been. it is. im sure of it. after a time you drift off to sleep. i think i did too for a time. and now well here we are i guess. can you blame me? in the first place i didnt know it would turn out this way. somebody has to tell them though and i wont let it be through some apathetic wire. all i can think about now is - did you love him?

#tacotime writing

residues and examination gloves

i looked up at a gritty sky and thought of my mother. the moment passed soon enough and i stepped firmly off the landing and onto the pavement. holding my head straight and keeping my gaze vacant. it helps to look right through people. if they meet my eyes i can feel them get a glimmering of my pathetic cowering self. knowing my own weaknesses has given me this feelingof vast superiority. i know i am a horrible person and admit it therefore i am better than you. each morning as i walk to work i try it with purpose. typically i am smartly dressed and wear a professional expression on my face. the type of face that either inspires admiration or pity. as i walk i sense the glances of passersby. apparently i am attractive, but they cant see everything so i dont take the notion too seriously. ive walked a mile and remember the burnt poptart and half a glass of milk i downed before turning the handle of my door. ive walked another mile when i turn the handle of a local coffee shop. and it is a few minutes later when i walk out scone in one trembling hand (the man behind the counter looked a little too steadily into my eyes) and espresso in the other. im buzzed when i arrive at my place of work, the walk in clinic. holding the position of receptionist has occupied my time and filled my wallet for the last two months. its enjoyable to observe all of the patients and their various countenances as they walk escorted to a back room to receive their judgement. seeing as i am a perfectionist, i am rather adept at this little stint im at. anyone who looks at the clean and overly organized files and pencils and pos-tits and highlighters and appointment slips that cover my desk is duly impressed. i suppose im never satisfied. i work on my breaks. only because id rather be doing something than nothing. there was a time when i would bring a book to work, but idle chit chat and the idle murmur of sanitation were too distracting for my poor feeble brain. so now i wait until arriving back home to read. well, after i shower. i must wash off the shame of regular work and interaction with sub and semi sub humans all day. probably i am the only person who is alive. work always flies by. but its never fun. who came up with that expression? time flies only when it needs to,

go hang a salami im a lasagna hog

i cannot recall dying but it must have happened all the same. maybe i dont remember because it all happens tomorrow. i know it happens. ive been given a blurry glimpse into my future or ive been given a second chance at my second to last day in life.

upon

awakening

this morning at 7:30, i felt the chilling tingle of dejavu running down my spine. at frist the feeling was unrecognizable and i started at the thought of some inconsiderate arthropod prancnig about on my back. my partner lying on her back next to me red wood hair tangled into a birds nest draping across pale skin revealing one tender eyelid and one disarrayed brow let out a moan of contentment in sensing my flustered movement. the eyelid slid open and her iris was an olive greenthe pupil a pinpoint it quavered alittle, and. i for the first time in the two months i had known this particular iris, could place its inner pattern- as if in some catacomb deep under france thousands of human skullsstacked upon one another, but every skull frozen in a grimace of sheer pain and sadness. it was probably 7:34 and i knew i was going to die.

blankets felt a little heavy, like, i mused, some invisible woman was gently pushing and prodding, keeping the soft fabric tight against my limbs. shes smiling at me but the mangled mound of hair covers the baby doll mouth. i said something affectionate and pulled her close; i heard her heartbeat and mine slowed alittle comforted by the company. for a moment or two i considered sharing my morbid epiphany, but, then, i figured she might already know if it really were yesterday today. sleepily she rolled onto her backand when our cozily warmed bodies lost contact she scooted back to just barely allow the outtermost atoms of her back hold the outtermost atoms of my stomach perfectly. human contact is the most important aspect of my life, she says every now and again.

after lying lucid and lost for a few minutes i hoisted myself up and out of bed

dejavu is a fairly familiar aspect in my life. some time ago i decided that i must dream fragments of my future life years in advance. my experiences with dejavu typically consist of a minute or less of "seeing my future", but it is a near sighted seeing. split seconds before anything occurs in my reality, i am aware of it. despite its usual brief endurance i am always left with the thought that my day has been made exponentially more significant because of such happenings. but the feeling of 7:34 was quite different. i knew instantly that on the next day i would perish, and then, a moment later, i realized that i had already been through it, my last words, my death rattle all of it. what words i found suiting and the particular tone of my presumably grating rattle escape me, but my certainty at the occurence of the tragic (i would hope ) event is lacking any doubt. my heart's faint tremble at the thought of its final contraction is understandably expected.

i was awake and i was scared. i was frantic even in those first few half hours after 7:34. the girl was sleeping still. one night she asked me what i would do if i had knowledge of my impending death. i never answered. and god god god i wish i had taken the question a bit more seriously. i run around the apartment, spilling coffee and brain cells every where i go. iseee her purse. she keeps a notebook in it; shes a writer. off limits she says. then why do you always bring it here. i bring it everywhere. i grab the notebook. the girl was still sleeping.

if its money you want. welll. gosh. i am sorry, but i cant make it this month. probably not next month either. its money we all want right. i dont have any. and i want it too. youll just have to wait. i say this a lot to myself. i have this obsessionwith the gritty texture of paper money. gotta feel it on my finger tips. i can tell im alive if my thumb and index finger have that inksoaked piece of paper to rub against. thats a lie. i can never tell if im truly alive and breathing lately, ive been putting myself out there.i mean. not even putting myself out there im mostly laying across railroad tracks but its been somehow fulfilling. you gotta pretend that hes the one you left behind and it really isnt all that hard just breath andlisten and moan and breath andlisten if its a lie oh

i miss the days where i felt uncertainty and it made me certain maybe thats the only way of truly being human by not being sure that you are human im human and i cling on to bodies and gritty paper like theyre the only things keeping my baby sister from croaking if its me you want then come and get me at least thats the way ive been thinking lately whats the use in holding back itd be a shame if i ever ignored my flaws sometimes i see how beautiful they are even if they are so goddamn fucking conspicuous and they make me blush in a crowded room theyre good theyre for the best i know they are and it takes something like laying out on the tracks to figure that out someone still sees it and isnt phasedand you think do you really see me and all of what ive got to offer because it aint much and it certainly aint perfect but you are accepted all the same and then you think about money and hear another heartbeat and you can breath a sigh of relief because you are alive and even if you are not well you are well and that is all that really matters in this life this life this life what i am trying to get at is this im not sorry anymore maybe i was never truly sorry its gotta be the most despicable emotion being sorry and i said it so many time so many times and im sorry for that maybe but i wont say it aloud its regrets that are real when you can look back at your life and say oh boy why didnt i you know past validates present even if the past hasnt been yet validated memories are so odd they are insignificant but huge mere dwindling of imagination but they fill you up big and fat and you grin like you are ready for a good nap or a good fucking its been a pleasure these past few nights to see and be seen tonight will make the sixth and last night would make the first inconsequentially conversations have a way of repeating themselves and weaving in and out so seamlessly i forget who he is it was a pleasure been seeing eachother for near two months now and i nkow already its the best sex of my life it was the best sex of my life im a little mischievious gotta admit but its easy to tell what he wants and im not about to ruin the fun we have a lot of fun when i leave i dont give him another thought were going out tonight to the theatre not sure how many times ive been before i cant be sure of him because of theway he grins at me like im acting but if i were acting i would be so much better than all this i ask him to hold still a moment and i figure out something ive been trying to figure out for a while about his eyes... pupils are so dilated icant help but look into them a little longer than i should his eyes mean nothing to me but i still cant stop looking when i see them they are so black it seems they shouldnt feel a pin stuck into their middle the sharp edge would alarm his lid sure it flutters trying to hold back the perpetrator but i continue with persistance and i press it slwoly and firmly into the fluid surrounding the pupil he isnt screaming or nothing im satisfied and pull it out tears flood the theater i got something in my eye i hear him say he says you cant possibly be satisfied i smile and agree with my little eyes they blink twice and maybe were on the same page god i wish he knew what i was thinking that id like to take an axe and end it all find out if hes really right there there the show fills us up with so much sound and color i start shaking when we get up to leave the well shaped hand is groping for mine iget caught up in a lot of things what the difference is between this bodyand that is haunting me maybe ive made the wrong decisions i cant take them back but ill regret i wish i would put my finger onit why ican go on in so much pain and hurt so many people i dont even know without feeling true grief okay you are not an animal okay and the savior was revealed to be on the peripheral edge!

a clamor from the bedroom and i stuff the notebook back into her purse. it takes a minute to recover i dont know what i was expecting to find. it was about me. i love her

#palendrome #death dreams #deja vu

its over there

for a few seconds a few thoughts run through my mind i am not sure what they are but they are there and i cant focus on any of them. then i walk back to the bedroom and shes sitting upright looking at my dresser she isnt blinking and she isnt saying anything

"are you awake?"

"no, yes." she says it slyly. like she says everything. it drives me mad. but its raining hard and i have a lot on my mind. so i give an excuse and leave her in my apartment

i shut the door and hear the click i hear my feet patter down the steps and i zip my jacket up firmly. its cold outside.

when im walking i try to keep my head parallel to the pavement. many people pass me by and i try to look at each of them critically, but sympathetically and with that thought in the back of my head that my dna is incredibly fucking similar to each and everyone of them. it doesnt trouble me anymore. i like thinking that essentially im the same as everybody else, and i hope everybody else realizes it. im sure they just havent thought it through yet. the raindrops resonate deeply in my eardrums. cant remember if they usually do that. a man asks me for a cigarette and i fumble through my pockets. ive never smoked a cigarette in my life. after a few blocks have gone by i start tearing upa little, but it doesnt matter because its the rain is mingling with my tears and everybody sees with blurry vision on rainy days.

little more

walking further and nature enraptures me. an accord a nissan an acura the green is seeping out onto the sidewalk so perfectly paved amd guiding. it brushes against me leaves dew on my denim and then a few rustles that finish slowly taking their time. for a while i think about how good it feels to breath the cold air and the wilderness and then i think that ive probably never really done that. there is much that i have never really done. its drizzling now when the cars drive past there is a surge of misty polluted air in their wake. most people look very gray. im not any different. what a pity. 100 or less. thats how many years i get. ive used up so many already. running through my mind - you havent done anything yet. i havent done anything.

claim in a moment

im wide awake and i cant breath through my left nostril. i got to bed around 10, and its 4:30 now. i havent slept a wink. i remember winkin blinkin and nod. not the particulars. just that they had an adventure in dreamland. id really like to do that right about now. shadows seem a bit longer than usual. they are charcoal. im noticing how many little things clutter up a life. a lot of things havent changed about me. but in some respects i cant recognize myself. im glad of it. they waited a few more minutes. he shouldve come down ages ago. eventually my sister took hold of the bannister and began to pull herself up. although she was more lively in her old age than any of us, her back creaked worse than the rickety steps as she climbed. her hands were spotted telling her age openly. the neck that seemed to be held up bya cream turtleneck had avoided the crroked fate of her illpostured brother. we all waited at the bottom. it seemed like years went by before she reached the top. she was tired and old and she needed some hot porridge. the bedroom was only a couple feet from the head of the stairs. shaking almost imperceptibly arthritis ridden hands gripped the doorknob and turned slowly. no one was in the bedroom. she looked again. nope. not even a trace of the young man. her grandson. where could he have gone. a drop of sweat was caught up in her deeply wrinkled forehead. im not coming down she said. ill rest here until he comes home. we were too decrepit to argue. i will entirely forgot about the incident just after writing this. the grandson never came back. i dont think she will ever come down. i think he was her only wellmannered boy grandchild. the girls are always so much more manageable.

on top a drop theyre gone for good except this one

bang its not easy to stop youre so scared about it too, but its nothing to be ahamed of its normal even. but your fingers are shaking so much and you cant loosen your brow. try to describe tragic dignity. well it is you for one. and you know it so well too well. im so sorry, for being so mean all these years. so cold to you. i am glad you still have your pride but ive picked away at your skin ive been picking and picking and now you are this shell i dont think youre empty not yet but you bleed so easy. i really am sooryy. i didnt mean none of it. all these years.

so much

A tea cup and a saucer, one atop the other. The tea cup is filled to the brim.

When lifted to anticipating mouth lips quivering little drops are sent over its edge. It is placed on the saucer and makes a little clang the glass scrapes against the glass the hand already leaving the tea cup. The two tea drinking aids are left with one another once again. Their inertia must be awfully strong. A little pool has formed at the junction of the tea cup and saucer. Still visible on the tea cup is the path that the cream laden tea took so precariously. Must have been so brave and so frightened but the cup is too safe anyways and the saucer so ignored and beautiful and ignored again again. Really the two were quite handsome together. Despite the tea stains collected with time. Finest of fine china. Bluebells and forget-me-nots had taken root all over their exteriors. Delicate details. With great reason they were the pride of their owner. Often the cup would think with horrible loathing of her counterpart. She did not even think to be thankful that at least she were not a sheet of glass and the saucer another sheet of glass, then they would be doomed together forever. She did not even think of the great help the saucer provided. Catching renegade drops of tea without asking lending unyielding support. Despite a sometimes cold disposition the saucer really did feel for his tea cup. To be with such an exquisitely shaped cup was unreal, he still was baffled by his luckiness. Each time the hand would take her up and press her against warm lips moist lips red lips he would fill up with intolerable longing and scream and shatter his love if he could but he cannot scream and she cannot hear he hated the outstretched hand and he knew how much she loved it and how when it left she filled up with intolerable longing. But always a clang would come and together they would be and misery tradesoff and they cannot hear or speak but love

sometimes i speak

(i live someplace beautiful. and im turning into an object. the landscapes keep blending they aree merging and i cant do anything to know why. i think i need to be an object. i cant handle human responsiblilty. i can feel quantum mechanics schrodinger de broglie heisenberg einstein in my thoughts in my subconscious even. its there that im conscious of. its an escape i know it is. but i cant get this land out of my mind. really nothing bridges the two together. except more land. instaneously wake up in a bed 1700 miles away. im so useful. as an object. its killing me) (i live someplace beautiful. until recently i lived someplace else. this applies to most of my life. it is easy to get attached and to forget who you are when in motion. i think ive saidthought this before. i have far too much inertia for my own good. but, then, how can i)

i live someplace beautiful. At some point, I remember this and turn around. Sharp intakes of breath a putrid scent regales my nostrils. To the right i discern. An animal carcass, side of the road, entrails in/around road's middle, its a racoon. I'm on the first highway outside of town. on either side of the roadsun drunk wheat waxing, waning , laughing wildly with the wind. looking back toward the town, my apartment, my girl. looking out at wheat sea. i dont really contemplate and i veer southwestward through shoulder high strands of gold. light's slipping. my regrets start flooding in and my footsteps deccelerate and thud loudly on dirt that gives no sympathy to such desperate ears. im not an animal im not an animal im not an animalimnot ananimal if i only...

(a large jump in plot (too lazy to fill it in now))

I'm in my apartment. I reevaluate my personal artifacts as i pass them by. For the most part, i cant believe what ive been defining myself by all these years. A combination of disgust and nostalgia swarm my heart and come gushing out as i begin to knock over break add entropy to my possessions. clang, bang, crash of glass all im my ears, but my ears are not full they are not the least bit satisfied. i scream. loud and with some escapeable purpose. a girl comes running out of a nearby ajar door. she looks wildly at me.

Alice in the Morning

Alice was beautiful and I didn't know what to make of her. I proposed to her before any other man got the chance. A tear crawled out of the inner corner of her eye and glared at me while sweet tones whispered, 'I do.' We were idyllic and bought a home in the middle of nowhere, Montana. We gathered up everything and set off down the road. We bought goats and pigs and chickens and cooked a feast; we rested our hands on full bellies the first night in our little home. A robin sang outside the window and rays of sunlight led dust particles to our bed. I watched Alice on her side breathing, her jaw hung down a little drool on her pillow. I remember there was a tingle on my spine and my jostling at the thought of some inconsiderate arthropod woke Alice. One tender eyelid slid open, the sun caught the gold flecks that swam around in her eyes and made them glow. She glanced up and abruptly turned her head away from me. I said something affectionate, but my voice scratched like a fork on a glass plate and her shoulders shuddered as I pulled her close; I heard her heartbeat and mine slowed a little comforted by the company. Alice rolled onto her other side and when our cozily warmed bodies lost contact I scooted forward to just barely allow the outermost atoms of her back hold the outermost atoms of my stomach perfectly. Human contact is the most important aspect of my life, she would say every now and again. Surrounding myself with beauty is mine. And we'd smile at each other.

I found a job working Sunday through Friday at the lumberyard. The hours were long and so I would come home and have a beer or two with my dinner. In the morning I would have Alice cook a hearty breakfast. She would unwrap the tin foil around the glossy dark yellow cheese and cut thick pieces off from the corner; little triangles that she flipped into the whisked eggs and scrambled with a little ham. It was so satisfying to watch as she moved the eggs around in the pan, molding them to my slightest whim until they became a fluffy golden heap. She always put too much cream in my coffee and stirred with the tip of her finger chuckling, 'It really isn't all that hot' at my disapproval. I read the paper every morning and downed a tall glass of orange juice before heading off with lunch pail in hand. 'Thanks, babe. What's for dinner tonight?' I might say with Alice standing on the porch, her arm rocking back and forth, and her fingers stretched apart but falling limply down toward her palm. She might mumble, 'Pot roast'. I played poker with some of the guys on Friday nights and was known to take Alice into the city on Saturday nights if my winnings were high. We'd walk along the streets and I would wrap my hand around hers squeezing like I held some precious stone and we would have such a great time dancing and drinking and laughing. But I remember one night waiting outside some bar for Alice, a man with a thick beard struck up a conversation with me. 'That girl you were sitting with, she your wife?' He kept his eyes down and the words came out forced. 'ThatÕs right.'

'SheÕs beautiful. You are a damn lucky man'

'She is beautiful,' something in his face changed, it went slack, 'But she doesn't mean a thing to me.' I stared at him waiting for a reaction, but he was looking behind me. And I turned to see Alice's face tight, each eyebrow tensed downward, she was looking behind me. We went into town. I loaded the car with groceries while she ran inside the store for forgotten peanut butter. A man with a long stride and droopy mouth walked out beside her; I watched as he leaned close and let his hand brush a few strands of gold away from her ear to whisper his beard almost touching her cheek and because as she walked toward me her eyes were so bright and the red delicious apples of her cheeks bulging the lips barely able to keep shut and straight, my throat closed dry and my back pulled up like a marionette's on a string. The ride home was silent. We pulled over by the old apple tree on the outskirts of our property. The tree was huge, but bent near broken under the weight of all the apples in its branches. Alice called me over to help her shake the apples off. I stood there gripping an elephant's trunk swinging my arms back and forth and wondered if Alice behind me even held onto the thick branch any more. When the apples fell she strolled in a spiral around the tree and stooped to pick the future applesauce, apple pies, apple cider. She tossed an apple to me in a smooth arc. I bit down and chewed, letting the sweet juice fill up my mouth. I rotated the apple to find my second bite and saw a dull gray movement. My stomach collapsed in on itself and a worm slimed back down into my apple as I screamed, brandishing the lumpy dark red fruit at the sky. I chucked it hard at the tree, it blew into smithereens and I choked on my laughter while Alice plucked bits of the white flesh from her hair with her mouth pulled down into a mucking frown. 'What was that for? I didn't know it was bad' Her voice strained and her head was slightly bowed her eyes glowered up at me. A robin chirruped a couple of times. 'What did that man say to you outside the store?' The wind blew leaves at my feet and I couldn't stop staring at them. She dropped her arms loosely to her sides and walked over to me, stretched out her arms and folded them over my back, nestling her face in the nape of my neck. I didn't move for a long time. I kept my eyes open following the tumbles of the leaves. Probably, she told me that the man didn't mean anything to her and that I had nothing to worry about, but I wasn't paying attention and it didn't matter because I saw the way he touched her. Weeks went by and I shut her out. She would plead with me her eyes so wide and childlike looking wildly at me, and I would be reminded of when we first met and run my fingers through her hair or throw her onto the bed and make love to her, but I wouldn't listen to her anymore; she'd open up her mouth and I'd grab a book or run out the door or scream how am I supposed believe anything a lying little slut has to say. Everywhere we went I saw the gangly gentleman caller lurking in corners waiting for Alice, but I'd never give them another chance to humiliate me. She ruined the Thanksgiving Day turkey. She brought it out onto the table in a large glass platter smoldering a little. I examined the bird and saw it had been burned in most places and would be very dry in others and I could feel veins throbbing throughout my entire body as I picked up the platter and heaved it onto the floor. The glass shattered and scattered as she cowered behind her chair and I shouted obscenities. After she cleaned up the mess on the floor I calmed down and offered her some eggnog, but she shrugged and walked outside with just a shawl that she pulled close to her body, pushing her elbows into her ribs and tucking her chin down to rest on her chest. 'Come back in. You'll freeze out here.' 'It's warmer than in there.' She said it flatly. 'What the hell is your problem, Alice?' Her eyes flickered for a second and then she turned away. I started to walk toward her, but then I thought better of it and left her in the backyard to sulk. Her eyes were all puffy when she came back inside and she lay down on the edge of the bed on her side her back to me and didn't say a word when I grumbled goodnight. There were a few times that I tried to find out what was wrong with her, but she never answered. Sometimes I pretended things were good between us. I took her out to dinner and was sweet to her, but she was distant and there was always a man staring over from across the room. She stopped making my lunches. And then she stopped getting up to make my breakfast. She burned dinner every night. My toast was charcoal and like biting down on rocks with a little creamy butter slathered on them. The boys at work said she always seemed a little odd and you canÕt let her disrespect you every day like that. They swore they'd tell me if they saw her with any men in the town and I was at ease when I played poker on Friday nights knowing that Alice was home and the guys had plenty of beer. One night I came home after losing a few hundred to find her crouching in front of the fireplace with her left hand inside the flames. Some exclamation bounded out of my lips as I snatched her delicate palm squeezing until my knuckles turned white and I could see her brow fold up in pain. 'Alice, why would you do that to yourself? That scared the shit out of me.' When I let go of her hand and she could see the raw garnet skin her eyelids shut and her mouth opened lips raised at the corners, 'It really wasn't all that hot.' A tear streamed down my cheek and she wiped it with her sleeve. She threw her arms around me and stifled fits of laughter and crying in my collar. Her hand had to bandaged for a couple of weeks and when she unwound the white cloth I saw that the scars looked like bare trees. When I told her she laughed and I brought my hands up to her cheeks and kissed each saying, 'I love you.' Gold eyes looked down at the floor and she smiled to herself. We would be alone together in our home and she wouldnÕt say a word just nod or smile or wrinkle her nose. Some nights she stared at me from the chair by the fireplace, her lips drawn tightly together, a few young wrinkles showing or some nights she wouldn't look at me at all and let her lips part to absentmindedly run her tongue along her lips. I could tell she resented me and was so bored and I couldn't stand it. I bought her books and candy and took her into the city, but her eyes stayed somewhere else and she was so cold when I touched her. I tried growing out my chestnut beard until the only thing that hinted my presence to deer in the wood was the pink sheen from my nose in the cold. At first Alice was amused by my beard and would tug on it lovingly, but as time passed, she pulled more and more sharply on it ripping patches of hair out and the dimples in her cheeks as her lips curled up told me she wasnÕt sorry like she said she was. Sometimes she stayed out all night walking. I followed her once. She stopped at our shed and grabbed the scythe. She went out to the fields. I watched her put all her might into each swing; the wheat fell cleanly and she bared her teeth in a wide grin and I was scared seeing her like this. After a long time she collapsed on the ground and lay panting her stomach rising and falling her eyes closed. I sat on the ground a few feet off and she was beautiful, I didn't care about anything except being near her. I got up and lay down next to her. 'Beautiful girl, I love you.' Alice rustled on the grass a little but I could see she was drifting off so I grabbed her wrist and closed my eyes. I fell asleep out there and woke up cold and soaking with the first rain of spring and the sky still indigo. The scythe lay on the ground, but Alice wasn't there anymore. I started off back toward the house. It was a long walk and it must've rained hard because the dawn made everything shimmer with raindrops and the ground was sludgy, like wet sand. I came home to find the door was open. There was a note tucked partially under the doormat. I stood on the porch a while with my arms crossed and held tightly against my chest. My stomach churned and I had to grab the railing to steady myself. Alice was gone. The morning sky filled with gold and tangerine hues and I couldn't go inside because Alice had left me. For a few minutes I let tears meander down my cheeks, but I didn't make a sound and I didn't move. I never knew her in summer and I watched the trees blow with the breeze. I had to leave the house.

I walked up and down a few hills rolling still and if you stare long enough the bumps blend together and it's one chunk of earth and dead grass and tress forever. Off to the west the charcoaled roast clouds were all but gone, a fine screen of mist below them, they were crying a little. The ground here was steeped in rainwater and remnants of insects floated like bits of cheerios in water. A robin hopped daintily from puddle to puddle swallowing the chitin corpses whole. He cocked his head at me and surveyed the freshly ironed creases in my skin, but in an instant he had nimbly skipped over to the next treasure trove. The trees on the next hill were broken cigars, but one was twisting, contorting itself into this sickly stance to face the sky. I started staring up at the sky too. The unraveled cotton drifted across the baby blue, but when the wind picked up it rushed out the door without even a kiss on the cheek, just a diminutive nod. A dragonfly nagged again and again in my ear until finally I got up and walked toward the merry robin. Wind flipped brittle grass and swept the robin up high in spurts and brought it to rest on the top of a birch, the robin's orange peel breast was conspicuous against the pale, bony appendages. Warbling a little, the robin puffed out its chest, let its head fall back ad bellowed upward, but the clouds kept migrating south and he was alone.

#robin omen #shins lyrics

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