Aidy in a Radio

After falling from tall buildings, placed my calls to female villains. I have fallen onto carpets hidden bruises in the darkness, screaming won’t somebody catch me, cradle me and then forget me, meaning just a flash of brilliance left behind to mark my progress left behind to start the silence that continues ever after in the absence of your laughter when the madness makes me stagger past the wake of rusty motors, floating cans of empty soda. I now know I was supposed to call you when you’re walking homeward when you’re talking in your code words left on tables to decipher, stolen in the dead of night or else discarded to waste baskets, bathroom floors burdened by caskets filled with memories of movement from the pleasantries of newness, from the exciting abuses of loud words and techno music and the scrapes of nails in shouders, every shape clamoring closer to some unspecified wholeness that is always out of arms length poised like coral in a fishtank, letting go of pages left blank, left for you to sign your name to so I won’t forget you came through my doorway for one small season, wearing hairties like a reason to keep walking to keep breathing to retain some shred of meaning beyond longing never-ending beyond letters not worth sending, ringed not rosey from my coffee, drank so tiredness won’t stop me from completing open-ended pleas for you to say you meant it when you drove me through the cities over dropped pennies and pity, holding hands while you were steering, radio too loud for hearing me tell you I’m glad I found you as fluorescent lights surround you.

Don’t you know that we are perfect.


~ by perfectionatrix on February 16, 2010.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: