Sunday, October 14, 2012

Nightmares. October 13, 2012. Burnsville, Minnesota.

Strobes, night turns to day and back to night again
in the blink of a huge cat-yellow eye
projected on a monster screen
hip-hop music deafening
I walked in by mistake but now I can't see an EXIT sign
isn't there supposed to be one by law?
The air conditioning--it's like a meat locker in here
I can't find the exit

Now I'm cold, so cold
The ground is cold and my bare feet
are like blocks of wood if blocks of wood could feel the cold
Anne Frank says something to me in Dutch but I don't understand Dutch
she edges away in the dark and I remember too late that Otto was German
and so Anne would speak at least as much German as I do
and so I go running and calling out "Anne!"
careful to make it two syllables
"Anne, ich bin Amerikanische" and I'm holding out a Hershey bar
until I trip over a small pile of stinking rags
and feel again that wave of grief when they tell you in sixth grade
that the diary has no volume II
but maybe she could have lived one more day
if I could have given her a fake-chocolate goddamned Hershey bar

It was a mistake to leave that Hershey bar on the counter
cockroaches the size of oysters
cockroaches will survive nuclear holocaust
and the planet won't be run by apes
it will be run by cockroaches
please let me die in the first white blinding blast
so I don't see the cockroaches everywhere
the cockroaches everywhere
the cockroaches crawling all over me in my bed

"Sleep with you? Love you? Live in a big house in Weston, Connecticut
with you?" says Christopher Plummer with barely masked disdain
circa Inside Daisy Clover Warner Brothers 1965
If there were any mercy in the universe
ugly women would have no capacity for love
they would not have light, soft hairs on their forearms
so sensitive to the brief, accidental touch of a man making his way
from the back of the elevator out on to the third floor
If there were any mercy in the world
ugly women would die young in pandemics epidemics and what the
Centers for Disease Control simply calls outbreaks
so that ugly women would never grow old enough to purchase
large beds and sleep in them a lifetime alone

Alone, falling, falling, ice like polyurethane on the concrete
the sound of bones breaking on concrete
I lift my face out of the red snow
manage to use my good arm to get my phone out of my pocket
only to remember that my Contacts folder is empty.