a candle danced madly casting
bitter shadows
who became irate
irritated
by their shapeshifting inconsistency neutered
what did they expect
they were in the attic of an old wood house
they didnt have to followed him
inthey were thick if they didnt know itd be drafty
which was what he dug about the place
or any place not hermetically-sealed
like a coffin
it was unlike diametrically opposed to modern office spaces their sharp cookie-cut
buildings pumping heat and airconditioning(an swill) through ceiling vents forcing those inside to breathe recirculated
air(chewing someones discarded gum) a transcendent
technological solution to be applied to new home construction(cancer replete)
this old house breathed
it was the internalisation of Outside
an in its truest sense Shelter which was all human animals really needed
it didnt placate their worrisome wants
or fuss for luxuries which made them less though few of his fellow animals might agree
the breathing bleeding went two ways as righteous Systems would
integrally they sought an equality which was
strong in either direction inevitably despite the unsullied realisation that nothing
was 50/50
except a cointoss
an everything everyone hedged for
their benefit
unfinished electricboxes an
outlets hung loosely from forged nails hammered into a studs
the house was built before
electricification
its exterior walls were lined by
an array of lead pipes jointed and elbowed
wire was threaded through them
before they were coupled an hotbeaded
then uprighted they were clasped
to the walls intact
augurs burrowed into its skin
stumps protruded into its interior
gaps an seams were caulked
he ran the cord from the record
player to a flimsy outlet
the machine he had played 78s 45s 33 and 1/3s
a metal insignia attached to its wood cabinet vowed High Fidelity
it cost next to nothing
because
no one wanted it
although it was enough for him
THEN AT A SUDDEN a gust of wind rose an howled battered itself against the house
snuffing out the candle leaving him in the nights blue light whipped by
the
bonemoon that penetrated the attic through
a small window at its end casting its puttied panes as lethal crosshairs on the slatwood floor
in the middle of the floor near
this violent inert bullseye hed stacked covered LPs upright inside of tarnished metal
milk crates he swiped out of the backs of unattended trucks like
his father an uncle before him had swiped ice for their icebox from the icemen an shoveled warm horse turds from the dirt streets fending off other boys for their backyard Victory gardens dropped by
dray horses pulling at the head of delivery wagons an two-wheeled carts
an as the wind stomped the attic several disinterred
Russian Dolls staggered among odd paperbacks tossed up onto the top shelf of a rickety
bookshelf sitting at the knee wall
they were flattened compressed into disks
their
necks and spines shattered
looking down upon them they
looked like illstacked coins
the paperbacks beside them jumped an
fluttered on the concussion like blind moths chasing the warm bokeh of light that
long ago imprinted their memory now
reeling out of their split cracked consciousness
a round antique wire birdcage
strung up to a rafter on a nylon fishline bounced
the winds stomping shook the molt
from a mummified parakeet like a dusting puffball mushroom as it lay rigid an
prone on the cages sandpaper bottom
an the barometer that hung from a nail
off a square timber support column saw its needle plunge its morality shot
angst undivided
it craved a stop gap to quiet the violence
an would happily have taken it in a withered junkies arm
DARKNESS surrounded him
wrapped him closely an ally a willing accessory who held its tongue
refused to disparage him
he was encouraged
overhead a parachute silk he hung
from the rafters swayed the envy of spiders
he draped it above his unmade bed a mattress layered
with Mexican blankets
the silk moved like inverted seafoam at
the seas edge or the claustrophobic unease détente miring an unholy net meant to capture
shadows an unruly shadows who wanted the net packed away an not threaten their haunts or freedom
he dropped his eyes from the
disruption over his head
he fixated briefly on the bullseye splayed coercively on
the unswept floor
then an agent or benefactor of neither he returned to what he was doing before the house shuddered
he was strangling Spirit slowly
slowly turning the volume knob
left
taking down Street Worm
until the last he heard
the sparkles from the speakers the fuzz of a guitar riff the
faint words Ill be happy flyin on the
rooftops . . happy sayin how I
pleasee . . .
earlier amid the buttermilk candle light
he kicked Rare Earth in the teeth
confirming I Know Im Losing You
having lost him to a Winter Tobacco
Road
2352, Monday,
21 12. 15
0009, Day-between-Two-Ts, 23 12.
15
