I had one of those days. Friday. I left the house in my habitual skintight black jeans and my favorite white button-up shirt (which is so thin from overwearing that in the right light it becomes virtually transparent). On the way to work I crossed paths with a short little black-haired hipster girl who gave me the I'm-not-moving-my-eyes-away-from-you-until-you're-gone gaze and bared her teeth like she was preparing to sink them into whatever piece of me happened to present itself to such tender treatment. I don't get that kind of look very often (though I've been told I'm just generally oblivious to them), so any time I happen to get such a glance I'm instantly infused with that rush of elated self-confidence not unlike the first flush of tipsiness. I made it to work with a mile-wide smile.
Did I mention that this was the second to last day at my old framing job? Happiness must cast me in a good light.
A couple hours later a pair of young women entered the shop with several pieces of Indian and Egyptian art that they needed to have framed. They each had darkly sun-kissed skin and the kind of huge black eyes that seem to glimmer with lascivious thoughts, and are incredibly hard to look into without becoming entirely distracted. Which made the task of selecting appropriate mats and frames for the pieces a simultaneously delightful and arduous task. Thank god that the shop-counter is stomach high, because I would've been incredibly embarrassed if either had caught sight of what was going on below the belt when I happened to catch one girl's eyes just as they seemed to be gaping open to swallow me. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and it took willpower not to follow her out of the store and ask for her number when she left.
Then, on my lunchbreak, I went to the bookstore next door to peruse the poetry shelves, and while there, nearly had my heart torn out by the long, appraising stares of two different girls, one blond and long-haired, the other raven-black and clipped in tight little curls. Both were also scanning the poetry section and I barely managed not to engage them both in a discussion of their respective tastes.
Please understand. I honestly don't think I'm very attractive and usually dismiss such moments out of hand. But something about each of these looks (and I know these are so very easy to misinterpret) seemed to invite infidelity. I swear my tongue was bleeding by the end of my shift from all the biting it.
Thankfully, the next day (my one day off with the girl) was a glorious reminder of the joys of relationships. The following description is spoilered for the protection of those who don't wish to think of me having sex.
and here's a few poems. the first and last are mine, the second, that of an old SG member, Billy FiveCrows, whose piece is a response to the third piece.
nights un
nightsun-
blackbrilliant
synanesthetic
sheen on blacktop
on grave-
lled skin
streets liquidsheathed
Lethe flooding
blindblackwriggling
palething beneath
we're all in
this pilgrim. age. to-
gather. dancing with
such mechanical Dis-
grace.
nights in
night(s(in) house
breathing heartdust
cathode surgical flicker
brownbean juices
satin stain cuspid and
carpet; critical
to flood the fan
with applause
that circulates,
calculates
cool friction, warm
fiction leafing
under and above
the crusty reading
of the bedcoat
nights on
nightson
concatahaloed streets reek
of flesheffluvia
breathed of machine
four cylinder seething
sodium-arc earthlight
cresting resonant caverns
halitoic, halogen suspirations limn
limbs scabrousleek, emaciation replete
fraythreaded teethgnash
incandescent with neon and spittle
earthbloodblack leaking
the fissureveined concrete
of faces, pleading as palms
lapping light
