Sunday, August 30, 2009

Three Mobile.

There's a spider in my room but I am not afraid. He's telling me things, bad things, things I don't want to hear. He's weaving images in my head, silver strands and masochistic moments, dead beliefs and lies which stick and shiver and shake as they trap themselves in this familiar pattern. He's crawling down the wall to me as I lie in my bed, unable to sleep, unable to sleep now for three days, just lying on my back, listening to the whispers of the spider.
But I am not afraid.
He's lying beside her. He's telling her things, good things, things she wants to hear. He's cooking images in her head. Silver hands and city moments, red hankerchiefs and at night they lick and shiver and shake as they trap themselves in that familiar kitchen. They're calling me, from the bar, on the E, as I lie in my bed, unable to sleep, unable to sleep now for three days, just crying on my back, knowing that he's lying beside her.
But I am not afraid.
I'm flying to see her. She'll tell me to sing, song things, songs she wants to hear. We'll take pictures of the red, golden lands and THIS will be our finest moment. She's more than a friend she's the look in my eye when I start to cry, shivering and shaking and trapped in that familiar giggle. She's calling from across the sea, oh mon ami, as I get out of my bed, unable to sleep now for three days, just dying to call back, knowing that I can fly to see her.
And I am not afraid.

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