Sunday, January 13, 2013

Domestic Partner Ship

L mentioned an exercise-- let's write to un-ruin the front room. In the thick of it on inflexible furniture. One piece harvested from a diner and the others look like school bus. Orange pleather, yellow pleather, what could possibly go wrong? Dry rinds, a rat's nest. Urine-scented wood shavings to sink into. And a faux Persian rug, dirt ground on. Doog has a rag of a real one, hand woven, a scrap of magic.
The wall's haunted by a butcher paper flip-off, party decor. I can remember what everyone signed. "Smoke my piss, bro." "More time to play sax." Dark colored art- oily scenes-- from someone else's house. And of course a procession from Catherine's room. Her crap like Spiral Jetty, beckoning it into entropy, clumps of clothes reclaiming the structure I try to impose. The love seats at right angles, this too will go astray, wreck the wall, extract chipped fragments.
I think we already smeared some sage on the place. What other exorcism is required? We're on a hill, We watched Halloween and the windows turned suspiscious, assuming now they go two ways. There's also that skeleton on the porch, somewhat more sinister. Maybe it's the thing bringing the Macabre. Legos from different sets, an interrupting Tinker Toy. Dolls of different scales getting married on the floor.

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