after several good whiskys   neat

he couldnt be held responsible for shit

                                                                   not for the hummingbird sugar water madly 

boiling on the electric range

which he ignored

despite it smelling like burnt caramel or marshmallows   and permeating the house

yes                                                                                                                                                     he did put it on the stove

                                                                                                                  

yes

he admired its first traces of thin bubbles beginning 

                                                                              their silver threads becoming globes 

shaking  on the bottom of the pot  breaking loose  appearing like perfect spheres of 

mercury

in search of other spheres to meddle and mingle with . . .

                                                              

yes

he had admired their sudden breach from the pots bottom and rocking the surface . . .

    

although                                                                                                                                               he was already imagining them merging with the air in the yellow kitchen as if he was 

submerged in an atmosphere of slick slippery mercury

                                                                                               and the room filling

filling   pushing at the glass paned windows  bulging them  erupting like flamethrowers 

into the sweating mercury atmosphere outside the house

                                                                                               its mad boil then scorching and browning the bellys of the clouds suspended above

suspended

they had been anchored in place   staked out

by a god who took exception to their pitiful construction  its bad artistry 

                                                                                                                     and while

he couldnt punish himself 

                                           he could certainly punish  torment  and torture his creations

it was something he excelled at  

                                                     excelling at it as well as he excelled at his divine 
creativity

yes he had several whiskys

and he was going to have several more

the night was early

the elastic taffy bubbles forming on the stove were a promising beginning to whatever 

was to follow

yes

he was out ahead of himself

but he  of all the things he was certain of  in this queer xistence   swirling about his head 

like a swarm of blue bottle flies

he was blinkered-certain of not wanting to follow in his wake

if some thought god fucked things up

he was proving himself an enthusiastic capable understudy

2054,  Thursday,  10  7. 14

He took the old womans arm

it almost physically harmed him simply holding it                                                                        

                                                                                             its very thinness
its weight and feel of Infirmity
how the wind hadnt broken her up and blown her away like fallen leaves startled him
 

taking her by the wrist with one hand

the other cradling her elbow

he delicately sought to impart to her his fast assurance and quiet aid

his willingness   to solicit and cater to her evident independence

                                                                                      had he taken her arm too abruptly 

too firmly

she would have sensed  as any antenna who has learned by Living over scores and scores 

and sores of years  any secreted annoyance or hastening he might have borne

                                                                                                                                instinctively

he knew those were the terms of helping her     that she would rather he go away 

than burden her

the museum they happened in  the Legion of Honor  was as elegant as she   and as 

stoic

a copy of Rodins bronze Thinker sat in the paver courtyard without  he  perhaps   was 

either pondering or admiring the soft white sunlight playing a childs game of hidenseek

gaily in the cool fog oozing from out of the Bay

                                                          but the cold gnawed at her knobby rheumatic joints 

firing spindles of elastic pain which insinuated themselves like Dalis softclocks and 

peeled masks draped to one side

Pain

her one True Persistent and So-very-attentive companion stroked her small gray head   

telling her  --    Im here love  Im not going anywhere

                                                                                                 she blanched

bit at her lips

her eyes became glassy with tears

she mumbled

not incoherently

but in a language only the Suffering can hear

                                                                                         he thought she mumbled

he helped her pass through an elaborate checkpoint and stood in the antechamber 

where the Matisses were exhibited

suddenly  as best she could and in her own way  she hurried  possessed by her intent 

and urgency

to the south wall where five small paintings hung

the whole while mouthing marvelous marvelous

she craned her forward-tilted skull back  nearly to press at the hump fixed between her 

thin shoulders

                                                                                                                                     

                            there  three pieces in particular  captured her attention
and they must have astonished even Matisse  when he had completed them more than 
one hundred years earlier
 

         La table au café   Nature morte – fruits, pot Sevres   and the Assiette de fruits 

                                                                                                                               

                                                                                                          they simply   Vibrated 

their unique stature  and brilliant molten colours

she drew up on her heels  stiffening  then her arm began twitching between his hands

                                                                                             

he looked into her face and watched its seams soften     become pliable   supple

      

looking back into his eyes she seemed to want to throw off his hands  as if they were 

shackles worrying her

                                      though she didnt say a thing to him

just looked him in the face                                                                                                                  

her expression was evidence of what he had felt through his hands

so he let go

--   Maam  I trust youll have a good afternoon  Please take care

she nodded  her practised eyes answering for her

                                                                                                         he hadnt expected that

there  as there never is  was nothing in the day before he left home to take in the 

Impressionists exhibit that would have assumed anything this improbable

he stopped short in the foyer of the Matisse before leaving to take her in one last time   

to relish this small bit of Life                                                                                                                                      

                                              she was standing erect  unaided

her posture was that of a younger woman

her cheeks flushed  lips blossomed

she seemed in full possession of herself  and being                                                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                        and over her shoulder

not that anyone else might have noticed

the three Matisses were flat  duller

 

                                                               less vivacious

2326,  Day-Between-Two-Ts,  9  7. 14