Small fingers and licorice, anise to be exact.
Fantasizing about walking around taunting people, saying, 'C'mon, you know you hate it here.' And I still have this twisted joke about suicide like my friend used said there was a time when he was trying to find the most considerate way to kill himself. I was the only person in the room to belt out in laughter. I was the only one who got the joke.
The only one who kind of knew he was talking about 'the least cleanup'.
He meant the least amount of blood, the least imposition.
I knew about the couple gallons of his own blood the sky asked him for right before Katrina blew over our heads on 3rd avenue in the Haitian neighborhood;
The sky opened up and took some blood, but my friend heard a distinct voice in the night circling his block floating about 3 feet over and he could hear it getting closer and going farther away;
sort of like you can hear a helicopter circling, but not quite.
I've been hearing music at night and laughter and women talking. Women asking questions of each other, pitches changing from high to low murmurs. It's the heater in my room, I'm sure, but it still reminds me of Katrina for some reason.
The cold makes me desperately want to sleep all the time.
I remember the line in that vampire movie "Take me away from all this death."
I'd rather this be a poem about the movie " Lean on Me ". But, it's not, it's about suicide and hurricanes.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
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