I walk home and enter my bedroom. The floor is still tilting. It is 9pm.Somehow I cannot get the sight of Bob’s pecker out of my face. It looked kind of like a glow worm committing suicide, hung from the noose of his testicles slithered between the high white of his loins.Somehow the syrupy coffee they gave me is giving me a slight headache yet in a way it is making me feel relaxed and alert at the same time.
I fucking hate my best friend David Best. I fucking
hate how this season has petered out. I hate my high school. Hate the fact that I feel all alone in the
hallways. Hate the fact that Friday night was the first time since the early
rehearsals of Music Man that I actually felt like I was a part of something and my so-called brother goes
around and dick slaps me on the back.
Next door the blinds are open. I can make out the college girl. She is roving
back and forth. It is like she is holding a notebook of some sorts. Normally the lights would be off. Normally I
would mentally battle the temptation to stand on my desk, balancing on the side
of my bed as a ballast, hoping to get lost in the undulating treble clefs of
her body.
Hoping for more.
I am too aggrieved to watch. Instead, for some
reason, I reach into my desk where I keep all my role-playing notes and bad
poems. I reach for a tape that has never played in the lips of my old radio.
The cassette that I purchased on the exact date it came out.
The uterus of pine is giving birth to a nymph and a
miniature piano. It is giving birth to emotions and vibratos. It is giving
birth to streams of resilience, to pasture of acceptance, to prostituted
thighs, twin railroad tracks of loneliness and hurt leading inside.
It is giving
birth to a diaphanous cry, the menstruating paw of the feminine heart.
I place the cassette into my new stereo, turn of the
lights and lie on my bed.
Outside flakes of late-October snow drop in sporadic
trickles correlating with the overhead anthem of constellations, arthritic
branches scrapings against the side of the house as if trying to read braille.
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