Sunday, March 26, 2006

"The Donner Party Wasn't Much of One,"

she said before our tongues and our lives entwined. Usually women would say that sort of thing to me as an easy out, a Governor's-phonecall-at-the-last-moment-before-they-flip-the-switch way of getting themselves out of my futon and into anything or anyone else. These sorts of phrases were uttered to evaporate whatever negotiations may have been underway between my mind and the various other freelance ambassadors of my body. Or else they would move my hands from wherever they were to wherever they wanted, and say something like, "Don't expect anything. What's left of my soul went down on the Andrea Doria." Then I would grumble and shuffle off, stumbling half-drunk in the diamond grass at dawn until I unfurled myself upon the unpopulated tundra of my mattress, resigned to spilling rivers of my own longing. But here, but now, with the Donner Party running its course across my upper lip I could only surmise that someone had finally succumbed to the hunger to feed upon the breadcrumbs of my not-so-distant denouement.

Copyright 2006 max jukes/brian edward hack. No quotation or reproduction of this material without express written permission of the author. Photograph copyright 2006 max jukes/brian edward hack.

Labels: , , , ,


Post a Comment

<< Home