notes carved into burning trees
there was a tv
in every room of our trailer, doors closed
all hours of the day:
mom in one,
dad in another,
me,
a full grown man
twenty years later,
lead weight
and
white noise
for a heart.
last night at southport
slut-button
at the end of the bar
keeps lifting her shirt,
twisting her
left nipple.
already gilled,
i start feeding her
sublime shit:
tell her i'm a butterfly
with sixteen wings
beating in
succinct
anarchy.
how
she's got a mellifluous voice
like the heat off coffee
and a soul
just as mysterious.
i'm talking
prime, A game,
dali type shit.
she's bifurcated
the distance,
has her thumb
on the pulse of my groin,
whispering we should
get a hotel
with a whirlpool
cause she had
five dads.
then this
dusty earwig
comes in.
nothing is spoken,
but ten minutes later
they're out the door
together.
the fuck you
figure
josh?
i ask the
bartender.
he slings ice,
says josh.
shit,
maybe i ought sling ice,
know anyone
front me?
you're with
the law,
he says
pouring bar tequila
in my glass.
fuck,
you know that's
skin deep
baby.
lobby of the randolph
ask for trevor.
sling me a
grubstake?
stapling this to
your tab,
he says
punching a hundred
from the till.
i get out the door,
lay down in the parking-lot,
close my eyes
trying to will these
sixteen wings
motion.
Justin Hyde lives in Des Moines Iowa. At one time
he artificially inseminated pigs for litchaos.com but that has been
banned.. He has also been a bicycle mechanic, day laborer (had any
crap temp job you can imagine), bank examiner, auto insurance claim's
adjuster... Currently he is a Parole Officer. If you want to fuck
with Justin he can be contacted at jjjjhyde@yahoo.com
he'll reply for sure, the vain narcissistic fuck.. If you want to
see more of his slivers of shit go to www.myspace.com/fdostoev