Monday, January 17, 2005

Island

It's snowing - finally.

The sky is pale and soft as a fetal pig. The heaters clank. I've taken out my winter sweater. I've salted the sidewalks and my pillow. The snow hides things. The cold hides things. I know they're there, but the surface is so damn pretty. I fly over islands in my dreams - green and blue and hot white sand. I am a crane. Schools of red-yellow fish burst like fireworks across the shorelines. Clouds moisten my eyes. The sun bakes my skin and the soles of my feet. Bronzed, hardened by the heat, softened by the hanging fruits. Fat waves curl and fizz and throw themselves at the devouring shore like Buddha from a cliff to feed a starving lion. What more could I want here?

This island is deserted.

I wake and so is my bed... Something's gone missing. Something's fading out and uncovering an artifact that I am terrified of. A beautiful carsophogus opens. I can barely see what's inside...romance, drama, acrobatics - one, two three. One, two, three, like a dance back and forth over thousands of miles. But it all melts away. It's a movie. I'm in a theater and the film has gotten stuck on one frame that just burns through and melts away right there in the middle of the scene.

Illusions are made by artists and magicians and a certain desperation.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

Old Friends

It's grey in midtown. The coulds drop so low that the skyscrapers are beheaded. The rain is cold and hard. People scurry around under umbrellas with steam bursting from between their lips. I always imagine that when it rains, the layers of grime will be washed away. We all shove orange peels up our noses at this little cafe near 72nd street. I hear that the citric acid is supposed to clear the sinuses. We don't look to clever though, sipping tea like this and snorting.