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Showing posts from July 18, 2010

Memories

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Memories Feet jumping off boulders into crystalline river waters near ceremonial grounds. Hieroglyphs of other feet strolling on beaches full of mosquitoes.  Scared feet flying in the air on dirty motel beds in Oz, roasting like the roasting heart of a goose thumbing rides from Telegraph Street to herethere Oakland.  Feet posing in the nude for the muscular arms of a shy blond biker from South Carolina. Feet of men staring as wives run their fingers through silk stockings men burning to wear silk on the outside.

Wild Woman and the Piano Player

Wild Woman and the Piano Player In a dream, she demanded he go fetch those little affections hidden after her mother’s death: five yards of black lace, three wigs, and the six-foot lipstick palm tree left to die in their old apartment. He was a good for nothing, nobody piano playing fascist pursuing cheap adventures in cabarets.  With nothing to fear, she dragged him into her song, an accomplice to burning vultures, “ The Most Beautiful Drowned Man In the World .” It was difficult to find gigs playing ghost music so he became psychic assistant to a private investigator. They moved to Bangkok, where no one hated them, and continued entertaining the dead.  She took up farming in her strapless black gowns and occasionally landed work at the Floating Cabaret in the Patong Paradise district.  Juan the one-eyed gaucho brought her Cinnamon Myrtle every Wednesday.  Esteban showed up dead on Carthage beach, bones weighty from the water, taller, much taller than lipst...