Sensesitive

she was sensesitive

as if her skin was flayed from her body and she was sifted with fine sea-salt

it breezed across her body on wafts of pure-white smoke

                                                                                            nearly-perfect agony and ecstasy

as if the two described different things

she was flung high and grounded

she couldnt muster a quiet mind even if her senses were revoked

her sixth sense gobbling up their voluminous deficits

she was

unlike anyone hed ever met

her anxiousness and pious spontaneity were uninhibited  and pure

her colour spectrum severe  improbable 

startling

 

he learned things about himself

he would never have ventured alone

and in themselves  greedily  were worth knowing her

                                                                                       though he just didnt know her

he had fallen in love with her

he strapped in

and rode at her maddening gallop breathlessly gulping her rarified ether

he ran his own 

now exalted senses

until he  blacked out

otherwise

he couldnt keep up    he wouldnt stay down

she was unlike anyone he had ever met

knowing

her

he

learned

he

knew

nothing

before

her

1515,  Saturday,  27  8. 11

Maybe if he hadnt been familiar with Hoppers Nighthawks

its hard lines

deliberate light

he might have been more forgiving of his neighbors outdoor lighting above their garage door

it penetrated the blinds into his house late evenings

and belligerently through early morning hours until dawn subtly effaced its illumination

despite him telling them so

 

or perhaps they spiting him because he had said so

a huge spot of ulcerating light

a white etched face and startling edge of the fasciaboard above it  slicing the black night   

and to its left  sidebyside windows oozing a soft blue light  which was a loft above the 

garage 

                   and it was in this loft

as it was

peering 

through the plateglass window at the Nighthawks

the white-capped and uniformed sodajerk bent at his waist  jocular

the redhead  seated in a nondescript red dress admiring folded paper money she held 

warmly in her hand

and beside her 

arguably

a dapper john sporting a satin-beribboned fedora smoking a cigarette nonplus

across from them was a gent sitting on a fixed wooden seat stool having coffee

his back to the glass

he seemed cool to the remnants of the transaction before him

biding his time

sipping some water

her evenings second date

 

no one is jealous of a pro

peoples eyebrows rose  or knitted

Ahem  oftenly greeted his graphic perceptions of Hoppers painting

he readily admitted he had no attributable knowledge

but rather he was informed by the paintings characters

their relaxed manners and insouciance

and vitally

by the two tall stainless steel coffee cisterns that dominated the canvass right

one spent  the other expectant

it was through their sidebyside windows

overlooking a steaming hot tub hidden behind the broad planks of a sevenfoot fence 

they erected  divvying their properties

evidently seeking a kind of anonymity at groundlevel

                                                                      

which they chose not to abide in their loft
not hiding their nakedness or gamesplaying
 

not that his sensibilities were offended

they could frolic and fuck in broad daylight for all he cared

                                                                

his preference was the nights

his nightvision

and the array of stars overhead that were bleached out his eyes by their intrusive lamp

no one is jealous of a pro

when the brilliant relief didnt occur by their accord the globe fixture and bulb were smashed

--   Curious  he said

he commiserated telling them they were fortunate it wasnt a plateglass window broken

which were immensely expensive to replace

had they ever been to Chicagos Art Institute and seen Hoppers Nighthawks

the plateglass windows in the diner would cost a mint to replace

and have to replace again and again

1500,  Sunday,  28  9. 14