journal

for a kind of record, parts IV & V

IV.I am very happyyou could hear the risk in his voicehe rubs his penis across her waistthe dangerwhat did you say to medid you saytoo muchtoo much of looking over the precipicetoo much of walking around and aroundin these dark rooms where I live out empty daysCavafyand the stripperwith her hair glossy runningdown around her breastcurling into the hollowof his loin in a bituminous riverapproachretreattake hold of yourselfand girded against the unexpectedsmellget a good gripthe small of her backwipe your fingerpull the latchopen the windowa light breezewith the tangof revelationV.but I was just angryevery nightNo not every nightevery night and alwaysevery nightwhat happened last weekanywayevery nightI can smell dogshitmy body boilsis the pitin miniaturea model of hellno light escapesand the light in the cave is not reassuringalthough it dances has the highpitch whineof a blade of a wire a single strand spittingin a vacuumno relief just the superimposition of totem animals one over another over another overanother incessant pull gravity andthe vanity of manwho should commit suicide tomorrow or tonightwho should give himself up to the pull of the Platonicthe shadow does not meshadow does notnot mewhat expression escapesmortal dangeror should I say personalbut vanity should emoteI should kill myself tomorrow or tonightI should take my life

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