Showing posts with label Abdominals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abdominals. Show all posts
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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About Me
- Maggie
- Sydney, NSW, Australia
The Skunk
Up, black, striped and damasked like the chasuble At a funeral mass, the skunks tail Paraded the skunk. Night after night I expected her like a visitor.
The refrigerator whinnied into silence. My desk light softened beyond the verandah. Small oranges lommed in the orange tree. I began to be tense as a voyeur.
After eleven years I was composing Love letters again, broaching the word "wife" Like a stored cask, as if its slender vowel Had mutated into the night earth and air
Of California. The beautiful, useless Tang of eucalyptus spelt your absence. The aftermath of a mouthful of wine Was like inhaling you off a cold pillow.
And there she was, the intent and glamorous, Ordinary, mysterious skunk, Mythologized, demythologizd, Snuffing the boards five feet beyond me.
It all came back to me last night, stirred By the sootfall of your things at bedtime, Your head-down, tail up hunt in a bottoom drawer For the black plunge-line nightdress.
The refrigerator whinnied into silence. My desk light softened beyond the verandah. Small oranges lommed in the orange tree. I began to be tense as a voyeur.
After eleven years I was composing Love letters again, broaching the word "wife" Like a stored cask, as if its slender vowel Had mutated into the night earth and air
Of California. The beautiful, useless Tang of eucalyptus spelt your absence. The aftermath of a mouthful of wine Was like inhaling you off a cold pillow.
And there she was, the intent and glamorous, Ordinary, mysterious skunk, Mythologized, demythologizd, Snuffing the boards five feet beyond me.
It all came back to me last night, stirred By the sootfall of your things at bedtime, Your head-down, tail up hunt in a bottoom drawer For the black plunge-line nightdress.
Film 1001
The opposite of fiction is not reality, which is dictated by those in power. The opposite of fiction is found in the hot struggles of the poor, when a man enters into the flagrant offence of making up legends to contribute to the invention of his people.
Susan Orlean - The Orchid Thief
Life seemed to be filled with things that were just like the ghost orchid- wonderful to imagine and easy to fall in love with but a little fantastic and fleeting and out of reach.
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