but in my best behavior...

Natalia went into the store, and they looked at her. She bought a pack of Marb lights and they stared at her and her wide blue eyes and the curve of her mouth. And people stared because they wondered -

the sky yes, the sky curving in infinite black swoops, she saw, the massive blackness of the clouds and the paralysis of her limbs - the utter exhaustion. like the dream - Christ was a small man, and not arrogant, dark like unground coffee beans, cradling her head in his lap - "don't cry, you know it? there's no use. the point of fear - what is it?"

quoting Paul's letter to the Corinthians - "now we shall see things, as in a mirror dimly; until we meet - face to face - "

the hail was coming down. it was knives, it was sharp and cold and miserable. she could see the brick buildings from the corner of her eye. and where was Christina? the atheistic, persistently morose, pessimistic and miserable - afraid and of course not admitting to the fear. and Christina - was she already gone?

Natalia could see the hugeness of the sky, the black hole that ripped in ragged edges, and nothing behind it but a void.

She slid her ID across the counter and fished a ten from her pocket, ragged and soft. the woman behind the counter was heavily pregnant. She looked miserable; defeated. The pockets below her eyes were sagging and Natalia wanted to say "I'm sorry - "

cigarettes in pocket she slipped the lighter with the edge of her thumb until it was sore. She imagined Christina slowly in the the bathroom, towling her long hair dry, the soft rolling cello arc of her porcelain collarbone. Little tiny pear like beads of water on her neck. She got in the car and switched the ignition. It was snowing in soft heaps. The was a balloon of swelling panic in the back of her throat. She put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it and breathed. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. The sky was ambient and white.

i was much too far out all my life, and not waving but drowning

Ms. Smith huddled beside me at night;
huddled beneath a mauvely soft afghan and
stroked my cheek with her thumb; my
very soft cheek the hair downy pale the hair:

baby soft the touches, she leaned beside me
she was moaning and (all the way out)
moaning softly hands drawn palms down,
over both my eyes the pressure sweet.
the pressure made a warm red glow streaked with violet
across my vision.

I lay in bed with her throat against my neck and:
she button clinking mumbled
'don't let them leave you so far out;
don't let the water the icepricking cold the ice
the water - '

happy parisians

parishioners in tweed

soft jacket leathers, head bowed, happening
to be a happy well-dressed wealthy bunch,
driving secure cars secretly, bending the lines
the wires the rules, careless thrown glances
carelessly dispensed kisses and quarters in bills,
leaving the scent of goldmoney elsewhere.

happily paris swelled under their feet:
the cathedrals; the river.
young lovers both gay and otherwise rolled
the cobblestones, rolled "mais je l'aime"
about their mouths and danced happy beats long streaming
hair made to drink, to be drunk, to own
their pale faces and sweat-soaked t-shirts
was all they could own and as content as two people
would ever know to be.

made of prayer and false confidence,
feigned humility. humble sweet lips and
ivory teeth, fragile monsters behind the shower curtain,
again picking crackers and wine for dinner
remembering mom's
word mom's warning from behind coral lipstick,
her head tilted hair falling
cigarette fingers moaning: "hate him until he loves
you back enough,
loves you to pay the gas bill."

you looked at your girl and laughed. the eiffel tower loomed
cold and unflinching behind you.