Oh lookity look, it’s you, delicious you, all sparkle-eyed smiling and up to no good and you’re wondering about coming in (of course) and sure it’s later than I thought it would be but when some come there’s no thoughts of sleeping (and lately I’m never sleeping) and the interruption of nothing with something is sigh and smile and relief. Head and heart operate in full agreement that star chart spells churn from waking fingers, which means sleep has to go, and since when did it need more of me than three?
you say tonight you’ve been wandering too long with nowhere to go, thinking to follow bliss before the script flipped and your star was left stone suffocated. then you tracked the moon on the hunt for her tail or at least some uncharted chunk of cheese debris, and after circling and wandering there was nothing but midnight then more walking and head-scratching and suddenly me. Sounds alright. Half-asleep, restless, brain gurgeldy-blurgey, can’t think of a better blather banterer than me.
in this dumb we say everything obvious, these are fingers my fingers your fingers twenty fingers, these are your eyes my eyes twenty eyes between us. We draw new constellations from leg bruises, you ask questions about angry faeries and phantoms with poor communication skills and worry that I really want to marry you. I tell you no one ever says what they mean, and when they do the listener never believes them, and that’s why the knot in my throat is coal-to-diamond and resurfaces no matter the mining.
And no, I don’t want to marry you.
All around us a chorus of spirits dance and exchange wise cracks and high-fives and drunken obscene gestures, all flicking tongues and crossed eyes and uncovered erections. even the demons who duck behind books with bad titles and pull cat tails and faeries who only slow the bus down for chewing gum manage to get in on the action, making faces at my eight active eyes, teasing me with what to them is obvious: you can’t see them. Nyah nyah.
and then it’s all dish smashing sheet tugging art tearing confetti throwing paper burning lifemare, let it all fall away let it all fall apart, what exactly is there to be afraid of anymore? shouldn’t we be more afraid of death than love, shouldn’t we not be afraid of death at all when it operates as entry to where we’ve already been? why the fuck do we ruin our lives and wonder about curtains and fences when we could be all eyes and laughter and layers of scent? Why do you fear me most when I’m fenceless?
crying. door swinging technology tickle. fingers evolve to wires.
3AM. no one invited. everyone shows.