sheet music

that summer you were happy in paris, i hope you remember it well. that summer you were happy in the small apartment that swallowed its curses. strummer of thick stringed throat-lines. this, they said, is what communication is all about. tell me something. slit the rigging. say it again. this time: louder.

silhouettes on the bridge marvel at the marbled sky. the sun grazes the horizon, but won't surrender. hot air is trapped in the interior of the bobbing vessel, curls the small hairs on our temples, blows a hot breath on the small of our backs. clings invisibly to the thirsty skin of plants. low lights dangle over our heads, their thin electric cords trace the walls behind old still life paintings that cover the walls nearly completely. julia kent bends over her cello. and the room disappears, save the window, thick window, heavy lidded peeper of winter glass, layered with watery grime. the silhouettes trace. a spider plies his joints against invisible lines, he scatters himself and then descends. gnats fall victim, one by one, to quick spinning. her fingers stop, and the bow pulls long against resonant wooden body, the victim is achieved, we are wound too, sticky and thick, iridescent wings pinned to that treacherous nothing, spindly and many jointed the legs surround us, mechanical and many jointed her fingers do as was intended, our pulses lash, our bodies cannot, our mouths blossom cotton while blood fills our ears and lungs.

constellations of bruises, brown, red, and blue. all the things we won't remember about each other in tender braille across my arms, legs, and back. don't touch that. some stories are only written and never read. good karma means the lord's been breathing down your neck.