The City She Was

Redaction

43 Ars Amatoria (1) The disorderly display of kissing with tongue is now public. You tear through your Shakespeare for reference or pull on buttons with the edge of your fingernail or yell you’re so passive-aggressive in the Indian restaurant. The origin has already launched itself outside of your orbit. (2) She makes a promise she’ll appear and then she doesn’t. You wait outside the circus holding a balloon and she’s savoring that moment because it’s a war. You’re made two slivers like brittle soap. The violence drives you to the sublime hell of your gaze. I recommend the city. You can dazzle and grift, disappear there. Leave the cell phone behind so you return to its pulse, pulse, pulse. (3) You make it a lucid narrative and tell friends different bits and pieces.They help you put it back together like it’s a puzzle. You amend the unjust parts and keep them as your own private scabs. Just don’t end it with: And then the light fell like shards of rain, because no one will believe you. (4) In an embrace, you’ll find the sweet spot at the knuckle of the neck, under the scapula,in the fold of the armpit,and mark it with a flag of spit and your nail sickle. Not just sinful, but coarse and profane animal behavior. (5) You’ll say we won’t fight around other people and you fight around other people. Shameful, what you toss in the other’s face. ...