Here in the sun. Warming the feet from the God-blast that rides the leaf wiggle over Nova Scotia, Hate Boy and I Lazy by the garden stared at the sky. We had tomato and onion sandwiches with gobs of warm mayonnaise. I had eaten mine. Hate Boys lay next to him on a paper plate by his plastic cup of cows milk which came fresh from the teat of the cow we named Fly Booger. It was warm in the sun. An ant crawled over his half eaten sandwich. We could hear Jenny on the tire swing singing, This old man. The night before her father had beaten her with a willow switch. Her knobby knees hung through the tire and her arms over the top where she rested her chin. A penumbra of dapple played across her face as she swung back and forth. Her milky pink skein honey-peppered epidermal sunlight smelled of fresh green beans and raveled across the flattened green blades and broom straw like sparrows. She had grown used to the welts on her back, where Captain Red for shame would blanch into worms and fill Jennys voice with rain. Which Lily loved. In fact everyone loved, with the exception of her brother, Hate Boy and her Pa after a pint of whiskey. Lily loved to fall asleep to Jennys small rainy voice. Jenny sitting indian style, counting ants and then placing them on the dozing Lilys exposed belly, the two little girls on one of the many hot granite boulders that marked the shoreline of the bay. Jenny tossing small giggled to the bright blue Atlantic. Lily squashing ants. It was the tire swing that kept Jenny alive for seventeen years until The Hansen took residence in the barn for good in forms of dead hay and sleeping timber. It was the swing that took her far away from the violence. Took her to that place Lily took her to once and never again, when she had to swap death juice for blueberries and gems. The Wood Folk, (forest bums, or verdigris vagabonds, known more commonly as The Culling.) took a liking to Jenny and gave her two amulets. One for communicating with the dead. The other for muting pain.
She always looks drunk when she saunters down the street. Her lips curled upward in disgust. A beautiful woman. A lesbian and mostly sad. Her eyes were heavy and dark, the color of black coffee. Samuel called her Coffee Eyes. She was also known as Lilys shadow. When they were together, Coffee Eyes did most of the killing for Lily. Especially when she had taken to rum.
Bacon Tongue was a nasty Bitch with shit breath. A vulgar mouth. Heavy smoker, wide-hipped and mean as they come. Thin blonde hair. She liked to kill men in the middle of intercourse.
Canker Lips followed the two around. A tiny shrew of woman with a flat face, flat chested and marble eyes. She was twenty-five but looked ten and was often mistook for a boy. She was quiet with dirty nails and cankers in the corners of her mouth. She once put saline in my rum and then tried to kill me in the latrine when my pants were down. This was her specialty: humiliating deaths, poisons and the such. It was Lily who saved me.
Regarding that beach: How they were left there is a story Ill tell later. We were all left there.
So much has happened over the past few days. It began last Sunday night. I was tied up and forced to watch Hate Boy bash someone's feet with a sledge hammer. Coffee Eyes was playing with my penis squeezing and pulling it like a piece of dough. She wore black rubber gloves. I asked her if she liked it. Only when its limp she said. Canker Lips was sharpening a knife.
Not to recently:
Lily cut her hair to a bob and she is still her natural blonde and cute. She looks boyish now and it is only her movements that betray her gender. Yesterday, when it was overcast we went for a walk down in the meat packing district. It was one of the few times she held my hand in public. The streets were cobbled, deserted and cool. There was a light fog. Lily pushed her glasses up her nose. How to describe it. Sort of short and wide. Her Owl glasses command most of the bridge and slid back where they were. Kiss me, she said. When I turned to her, I saw behind her in the distance, a man on a roof lean out and look down. He had a basket ball gut, long hair and a beard. He disappear. What? She said and turned to look and when she did, thats when it happened. We saw the man leap off the building like super man and belly flop like a bag of cement and sort of pop. A spray of red blew out of his face. We ran over to him. I instinctively pulled out my cell phone and tried to dial 911, but I kept hitting the wrong numbers. When we got to him he was still alive. His stomach had inverted and blew up out of his mouth like a grayish baseball, red and pink. He arched his ass up and looked at us writhing. He was bleeding out of the eyes. Dont bother, Lily said, looking at my phone. He likes it this way. She then looked around and kicked him several times before searching his pockets. Nothing. Watching her riffle through his pockets gave me an erection. She knew it and grinned. The Hansen was dispersed by sirens in the distance. Several blocks east a figure crossed the street. (A phenomenon known as glooper.)
The building that he had chosen to jump off wasnt that high. Maybe two and a half stories. When we left him, the light hadnt yet left his eyes. The sirens had faded and The Hansen returned heavier than before almost baring our escape and stealing our footsteps as we ran. Northern Annie was around the corner. You could tell because of the vacuum in the air which always precedes her arrival and which is always caused by The Hansen. A suicide is one of her many call notes.
We ran down the street, through the fog, towards the Hudson; where we did it standing up behind a loading dock with the commingling stench of rotting food and the sea. The image of her bent over that pig of a suicide ran through my mind and I felt like a rapist while I fucked her from behind, grabbing the short tufts of hair on the back of her head and trying to drive deeper inside. Murder racing through our veins. Lily grabbed hold of the fire escape, said yes, and let me come inside of her. She was bleeding and didnt mind. When I was finished she stood up and slapped me hard across the face, smashing my bottom lip. Lily liked to punch me after sex. When she drew blood she would drink it. Thats what she did. She took hold of my head and kissed me very gently; licking the blood that was draining into my mouth. Then softly around the eyes. Come lover, She said and we walked hand in hand north to the boat launch. It took us an hour. We didnt talk much in those days. (words.) At the launch, we drank a bottle of red wine and watched the seagulls. It then started to rain. We snuck down to the docks where we climbed into a tarp covered dinghy moored at the end. It was one of those taxis for the boats farther out. We made love there again, this time sweetly, before falling asleep in each others arms to the sound of drizzle.
We woke to a heavy down pour. Dehydrated, mad with love.
She always looks drunk when she saunters down the street. Her lips curled upward in disgust. A beautiful woman. A lesbian and mostly sad. Her eyes were heavy and dark, the color of black coffee. Samuel called her Coffee Eyes. She was also known as Lilys shadow. When they were together, Coffee Eyes did most of the killing for Lily. Especially when she had taken to rum.
Bacon Tongue was a nasty Bitch with shit breath. A vulgar mouth. Heavy smoker, wide-hipped and mean as they come. Thin blonde hair. She liked to kill men in the middle of intercourse.
Canker Lips followed the two around. A tiny shrew of woman with a flat face, flat chested and marble eyes. She was twenty-five but looked ten and was often mistook for a boy. She was quiet with dirty nails and cankers in the corners of her mouth. She once put saline in my rum and then tried to kill me in the latrine when my pants were down. This was her specialty: humiliating deaths, poisons and the such. It was Lily who saved me.
Regarding that beach: How they were left there is a story Ill tell later. We were all left there.
So much has happened over the past few days. It began last Sunday night. I was tied up and forced to watch Hate Boy bash someone's feet with a sledge hammer. Coffee Eyes was playing with my penis squeezing and pulling it like a piece of dough. She wore black rubber gloves. I asked her if she liked it. Only when its limp she said. Canker Lips was sharpening a knife.
Not to recently:
Lily cut her hair to a bob and she is still her natural blonde and cute. She looks boyish now and it is only her movements that betray her gender. Yesterday, when it was overcast we went for a walk down in the meat packing district. It was one of the few times she held my hand in public. The streets were cobbled, deserted and cool. There was a light fog. Lily pushed her glasses up her nose. How to describe it. Sort of short and wide. Her Owl glasses command most of the bridge and slid back where they were. Kiss me, she said. When I turned to her, I saw behind her in the distance, a man on a roof lean out and look down. He had a basket ball gut, long hair and a beard. He disappear. What? She said and turned to look and when she did, thats when it happened. We saw the man leap off the building like super man and belly flop like a bag of cement and sort of pop. A spray of red blew out of his face. We ran over to him. I instinctively pulled out my cell phone and tried to dial 911, but I kept hitting the wrong numbers. When we got to him he was still alive. His stomach had inverted and blew up out of his mouth like a grayish baseball, red and pink. He arched his ass up and looked at us writhing. He was bleeding out of the eyes. Dont bother, Lily said, looking at my phone. He likes it this way. She then looked around and kicked him several times before searching his pockets. Nothing. Watching her riffle through his pockets gave me an erection. She knew it and grinned. The Hansen was dispersed by sirens in the distance. Several blocks east a figure crossed the street. (A phenomenon known as glooper.)
The building that he had chosen to jump off wasnt that high. Maybe two and a half stories. When we left him, the light hadnt yet left his eyes. The sirens had faded and The Hansen returned heavier than before almost baring our escape and stealing our footsteps as we ran. Northern Annie was around the corner. You could tell because of the vacuum in the air which always precedes her arrival and which is always caused by The Hansen. A suicide is one of her many call notes.
We ran down the street, through the fog, towards the Hudson; where we did it standing up behind a loading dock with the commingling stench of rotting food and the sea. The image of her bent over that pig of a suicide ran through my mind and I felt like a rapist while I fucked her from behind, grabbing the short tufts of hair on the back of her head and trying to drive deeper inside. Murder racing through our veins. Lily grabbed hold of the fire escape, said yes, and let me come inside of her. She was bleeding and didnt mind. When I was finished she stood up and slapped me hard across the face, smashing my bottom lip. Lily liked to punch me after sex. When she drew blood she would drink it. Thats what she did. She took hold of my head and kissed me very gently; licking the blood that was draining into my mouth. Then softly around the eyes. Come lover, She said and we walked hand in hand north to the boat launch. It took us an hour. We didnt talk much in those days. (words.) At the launch, we drank a bottle of red wine and watched the seagulls. It then started to rain. We snuck down to the docks where we climbed into a tarp covered dinghy moored at the end. It was one of those taxis for the boats farther out. We made love there again, this time sweetly, before falling asleep in each others arms to the sound of drizzle.
We woke to a heavy down pour. Dehydrated, mad with love.