sometimes  things  just got inside him   things occurred to him that made him ponder

Where the hell did that come from? 

more often than not he hadnt a clue  and if called out on what he said hed say

I was possessed 

there was nothing to be ashamed of or seek to tender any kind of excuse

Possession is  nine-tenth the Law

the eyerolls followed 

                                  not that he noticed or was impressed

there was scarcely little around him that intrigued  fascinated   or inspired him

their emphatic eyerolls  and oohs
lacked substance

but when Hell came to him he usually  quietly  paid attention

 

reading Faulkner may have contributed his disarray

as he walked down a hill on a high curbed street  their curbs poured early last Century

though parcels of this western towns curbs were fashioned with stone slabs 

quarried cut and then laid end to end

                                                             they were fascinating  the Midwest where he hailed from had nothing of its kind

in some places one hundred year old tree roots had worked their way under the curbs and lifted them out of their beds

like mustachioed carny musclemen  unkempt louts sporting bulging biceps traps triceps and quads

in the dead of night

if one listened carefully enough    maybe

they could be heard grunting  ever so slightly

 

descending this sun-speckled hill fondling a paperback copy of The Sound and the Fury he hardly paying any attention

to either his footfalls or surrounding 

he briefly lifted his eye  glanced
and queerly and momentarily fixed on brown sugar treats walking along the cross street
 

then unfixed  and returned 

                                            And father said it’s because you are a virgin: dont you see? Women are never virgins.

Purity is a negative state and therefore contrary to nature.  and I said That’s just words and he said So is virginity

and I said you dont know. You cant know and he said Yes. On the instant when we come to realize that tragedy is second-hand.

                      

over Faulkners printed page inside his head he watched the brown sugar treats walking along the busy street flaunting what they didnt know they were flaunting  though some did  the brighteyed ones like foxes in a henhouse  somehow they recognised their inchoate sexuality and fine tuned it finer tuning it on this corner marketplace of watchful eyes

their eyes slyly watching who was watching them as they stepped down off the high curb into the street with one leg

their skirts pulled up tantalizingly high on their firm brown thighs

then stepping back up onto the curb and the dusty easement

their eyes searching quickly

their bright laughter among themselves

the shy ones laughing  uncomfortably  into their hands that they brought up to their faces to cover their mouths

and discomfort

as if they should have been uncomfortable 

they hadnt stepped off the curb

they hadnt been sassy

or provocative

but they could feel the difference between themselves and their brazen friends

they could feel their untoward nudge  and push

their accusations 

they could feel their innocence challenged  an awkward erotic uncomfortableness
though they didnt know the word erotic to describe their sensation  or feelings
they knew only  its odd tensions
 

but they also knew they werent going to submit  no matter what their friends insisted  or implored

it didnt feel right to them

not now

No  perhaps Women are never virgins

but girls are

and girls are different than Women

he worked lumber out in the forest  the company often placed untried new hires with him  though he preferred an experienced hand on the other end of his crosscut saw

Mr Faulkner fucked this 

girls are different     

late afternoon,  Monday,  9  3. 15

1825,  Wednesday,  11  3. 15