Friday, 1 April 2005

tuscon



the chrome on the fawcet was dull and smeared with the grime of days if not weeks. outside the window crows gathered on the telegraph line like widows at a funeral. black eyes, black beaks. silent and watchful. inside she hovered over his thin body and slowly thrust her sex into his face. looking down at his skinny white legs and his hairless white knees and his skinny white, hairless and flacid dick. the viagra patently hadn't worked. too much cocaine. too much alcohol. too much excess. she longed for the release of orgasm to shake her body with its violent hand but his tongue, so often used to utter endless amounts of drivel was as useless as his lifeless penis. she allowed him the dignity of minutes and then she climbed off and leaned against the icebox where, by her own hand, she finished the job. teeth biting into her lower lip. watched by a framed madonna. the painting was old and worn and faded and from the painting, had she seen it, the head moved and the madonna's eyes watched her. from the corner of her eye the woman, now sexually satisfied, looked out at the sink with its piled up heap of dirty crockery and the crap covered fawcet. fascinated she observed as the chrome bubbled and corruscated and then slid off the steel forged tap down onto firstly the dirty plates and saucepans and then, snakelike, shifted across the draining board where it moved under a cupboard that had a deepening shadow. beneath it. it stopped its fluid motion and formed itself into a perfect oval shaped egg. she blinked bovinely and lifted her fingers to her nose taking in her own scent. musky and dark, like her own soul she thought. a desire for a drink, a hard drink of bourbon came over her but she pushed the thought and the need away. gazing again at her motionless lover she noted that his eyes had glazed over and had now spun round and were looking unfocused away up into nowhere. his skin was parchment pale and his cheekbones were sharp enough to pierce his fragile flesh. his tongue, lolling and white and covered in a ghastly greenish fur, hung out of his mouth and lay long and dry on his chin. from his mouth a ladybird crept and then another, followed by host of red and black spotted bodies. they looked like a dribble of little spots of fleeing blood or spittle. they scuttled down his chin. she hadn't noticed before but between his legs, drying brown and bloodied was a pile of excrement that was alive with white flecks. white flecks that moved. she wanted that bourbon more than ever but thought that a bath would be of greater benefit. moving away from the icebox she went into the bathroom where she hunkered down onto the porcelain bowl and relieved her self. the sound of urine came as a long hiss. there was no tissue and so she got up and ran hot water into the tub. the tiles that surrounded the tub swelled up like the belly of a pregnant woman and then shrunk back with a shuddering scratching breath of a sound as though air was being expelled over rusty razor blades. one tile made a soft "plooping" sound. maybe drive to tuscon she thought. she had always liked tuscon. she clambered out of the tub leaving wet puddles where her footprints fell in her wake and she walked toward her bedroom to get a towel. the puddles formed into one larger puddle and followed her. she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body. tuscon? yeah tuscon. buy that red floral dress. maybe get that big, broad black belt. then maybe drive awhile. outside the crows gathered. widows at a funeral.



words by cocaine jesus

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