THE OTHERS

All I ever wanted was one windy lie. I sat on the bed,
hearing
this; over and over again I kneaded the small play-doh
crucifix
I'd made in a previous text to ward off vampires.
Behind the
glass a tabby cat was anything but tabby, and
glowering orange
was a holy color to bemuse the sutra plunge.

What to do with corporeality when eating the
pills of
artificial emotive torrents would suture wool to click
and expose
a target told to sit harmoniously quiet breathing
ether on my
neck as I heard this, straight-faced but unrepenting,
kneading
the fascist principle of communities in my hands just
overtly
cracked?

Well, she said. I turn to prose, some neat blocks
of wedding
meat turning spitefully in the saliva of calm. Could
you claim to
be anything else but? I knew I was in trouble because
all of the
relatives were gathered around the dining room table,
and I'd
been kicked out of school early on account of death.

I'm unhappy, was all she'd offer. You're too
negative, and
even in Photoshop inverting your colors won't budge
that cynicism
from your cheeks, both scarred by crying out loudly to
the walls,
whenever a breakdown would occur. Go out walking. I
want you to
come home early. Over half of this file moves and
breathes like
successful text programming.

Well, I said. You suck.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html


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