1234 agin

                   tho with long-dead Eric Dolphy playing in his head  Live: At the Five Spot  New York  July 16, 1961

 

he was at home with any cat who wrote cryptically “Split clock birds drink wood’s angel through longhouse” penciled in the margin on one version of his score for F.T.R.H.

it also unknown

           

1234 wasnt a bad time to try and ignore the cold seeping in through the walls due to oil bills he couldnt afford to pay  he left water dribbling from the tap so the lines wouldnt freeze  wrapped hisself up a bit tighter in a scratchy wool blanket he got cheap at Goodwill  blew on his hands to warm them so he could keep writing under candlelight  yah he couldnt afford to pay the electric bills either  his brownstone attic apartment would have made an ideal morgue if it werent for all the stairs between it and the street or a root cellar if it wasnt an attic

but thats awright

flip it  look at it askew  it was like saving money

come morning when the sun returned the walls and roof would warm again and he could wonder outloud about split clock birds drink woods angel through longhouse without his teeth chattering

the girl downstairs took pity on him  he took her up on her offer of hot sweet black coffee lapped to the lip of his lacquered ironstone mug  and sometimes shed splash a little something extra in it  make it more stimulating   aromatic

she was a sweet thing

why she took the shit she did from her boyfriend was beyond him

he must have something on her

or she was influenced by her visits to her mother and her mothers wicked perception that a woman was no woman unless she had a man in her life no matter whether or not he was a good man and that he in her life was what made her a woman

no man ever made a woman

Yer old ladys full of shit he told her the one time she confided in him 

 

she hadnt since

Then you shouldnt have asked me what I thought 

 

I wouldnt lie to you

afterwards it made him think hed get along a little better with people if hed keep his two cents to hisself when he was asked he should lie to them pat their heads tell them Dont worry Itll be awright This too shall pass

This too shall pass

a crock of shit

people going from lie to lie and wondering when things were going to get better

they just hoped things would get better

hope

just another drug

he wasnt buying

he was no junkie

he made his hope

he wrote under the borrowed light of church votives

Let there be light

wasnt that their bit

it was  he exercised it

their hope wouldnt kill em fast

no accidentally taking too much  overdosing

they go to bed with it at night and wake up with it in the morning

Huh What gets me through the night

Ya knows  Yer coffee sweet little girl  Yer coffee

1234 or 0034,  Friday,  8  1. 16

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlWCUN2EdNc

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/05/28/arts/music/a-new-focus-on-eric-dolphy-in-washington-and-montclair.html?_r=0

it was wasnt it

                          better when books begged

better than when they demanded

like unsatisfied junkies

junkies whose violence trembled unsure

beneath their tight skin an features

unsure if theyd win

win their next fix

in next moment

the next breath

haunted

senseless

those who were only skin an bones an raw itching nerves

                                                                                               I made examples of them

smashed their tinderskulls against handmade stone walls

held them by their thin ulcerated ankles

 

swang them like feeble ragdolls

unable to escape or slip my grasp

hopeless

hopeless

      in their desperate physics as I swung them like bats an axes

I beat them until they were unrecognisable

weapons who failed to breach the wall

an dropped them left them like pulled weeds at its heels

Yes  it was better when the books begged

                                                                      I was more sympathetic  understanding

compliant

1601,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  6  1. 16 

 2135,  Day-between-Two Ts,  6  1. 16 

I am wearing a raptor glove an gauntlet

theres no reason why I should know of them yet Im wearing them on my right arm to protect it from a shehawks talons

Im guessing by her size shes a femaleIve never sexed a hawk  tho in the animal kingdom consensus usually provides the female is larger

 

also   by the way shes looking at meTakin me in

 

                                                                                 an weirder yet    by her affection

shes not satisfied sitting between my wrist an elbow

she sidesteps deliberately up to my bicep  to my shoulder

all the while  steadfast  looking with her huge eyes into mine

it is breathtaking looking into her eyes   

                                                               recognizing her intellect soul  her time evolution an collective unconsciousness exceeding my own species

maybe if we had wings

                                        maybe if we fed on living prey tore limb from limb

                                            

our human animal  an evermore pathetic far cry from where it began

steeling myself in the mirror of her shining eyes   subtly  over her shoulder  I spy the approach of a shedeer  tawny  sleek  limber

the hawk turns slowly to my furtive gaze  an in a brilliant nearly-instantaneous pirouette shes turned to the deers approach

the does head bobbles  but her agile stride is not impinged  or faulty  she remains on the line she began towards us since separating from the forests fringe  her spine sudden  keen  sheering the tall woods vertical rise an curtain

the shehawk sit more erect 

 

through the strength in her feet  her talonpoints pinching deeper at the heavy leather cloaking my arm  I am sentient of her halting and rising impulses

as the deer closes on the prairies grass to within twenty metres the shehawk relaxes

she shrugs  then pirouetting she faces me again

she tilts her head in the angle an attitude of a lovers kiss 

 

her feathers smooth  she blushes

her hooked beak recedes

                                         a womans dark face appears  eyes unyielding  unbroken on mine  an leaning forward her breath paints my cheeks an nostrils with the aroma of a heady warm wine

   

she presses her mouth to mine 

 

her lips part

my lips part

our tongues twine an taste

our breaths hot spicy an smoky

we gulps our kisses

she breaks from my mouth

I havent had enough

my head follows after hers still wanting seeking her mouth an lips

the doe had come up on us an drew her head through my opened left hand

 

she delicately erotically nuzzles the inside of my elbow my armpit  my throat beneath my jaw  my blood throbs

the hawk caresses the side of the does face with hers  the does countenance changes blonde to the hawks raven darkness 

 

exhaling  they blush

their exhale speaks  an the doe raises her mouth and lips to mine her breath her scent  a thinner strong wine

I am still unsatiated

with the crook of my arm I drew her head her mouth to mine an sipped   an sipped     an sipped deeper

I loosened her head to draw a breath so I didnt drown

 

I gasped for air  another an another  an one more before the hawk turns my head towards hers with a wingtip her primary flights at my jaw an temple an hungrily takes my mouth under hers

I had to break from her kiss   I gasped aroused

then with her warm split toe her foreleg the doe took me by my cheek turned my head left an kissed me deeply

I dont know who wanted the others breath more

an when I craned my head back to really breath I heard their hunger an felt the turn of their heads their kissing before my exposed throat

                               an breathing deeply  staring up into a sapphireblue sky an halo  surrounded by their  our  curling erotic miasma

I blacked out

blacked out

when I came to I was in a strange bedroom alone  naked  my clothes strewn towards the bed from the opened doorway

  

a warm flat sheet was gathered an raked across my thighs to my belly

the windows were open an the split curtains were lightly tickled by the breath of an incoming breeze the fragrance of woods

                                               

there were several fat candles alit erected in blunt stone and glass candleholders burned down to stubs

 

the walls were painted soft brown that ran up into a gentle stain or umbrae of pale twisting yellows oranges an reds

above me hanging from the center of the high ceiling was an elaborate crystal chandelier

also fixed with candles tho unlit

                                                        across my wrist lays a womans long doeskin glove 

0048,  Monday,  4  1. 16

1507,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  6  1. 16