Speak platitudes like: enough is enough, or
If you put one chair on top of another chair then it's inevitably not stable.
It isn't necessary, you don't need to reach that.
But you hold me on the kitchen floor in the light from the refrigerator when I cry because I can't stem the streams of salt pouring from my fingertips. Not: there is no salt, how could there be? More, it doesn't matter, we have plenty. Don't cry, we can sweep it up later.
When you speak on the phone to the mother of your children I am there beside you taping paper bags over my hands.
Good idea, you mouth.
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"I think to be oversensitive about cliches is like being oversensitive about table manners."
ReplyDelete- Evelyn Waugh
The one about the chairs, while understandable (if doubtful, why couldn't it be stable?), is rather new to me. ^_^
I have no idea what you mean by salt pouring from fingertips, but I love the image of the paper bags... and the last sentence rocks!
(What happens when the bags are full... will they baloon and burst eventually? Or just split at the glued seams and leak?)
I don't think it's a well used phrase. but, you know, the legs of one chair on the seat of another, with you on top - then this is universally recognised as un unstable thing. surely.
ReplyDeleteI don't know what the salt means either, if that helps any?
If you read "salt from hands" as "tears from eyes", the bf's call to the ex gets a whole new light (cold - from the fridge). The paper bags? No idea. Eyes have bags, underneath, when you don't get enough sleep, are worried and troubled. Still, there are ways to stifle tears, of course. And given how little is said, duct tape is silver, of course.
ReplyDeleteI'd say your rel'shp needs some clearing up, unless of course you really dig slow self-destruction. Okay, you are getting me all hot and bothered again...
(PS.: Blood from hands has some appeal, too. You into crucifiction fantasies? Lot's of associations, sacrifice, stigma with all it's double meanings, faith and shame... For a while this bloke I knew online, from TX, and I planned out meticulously how he'd nail me to the floor boards of his barn and then bugger me. I never believed it would happen, but it was one hot cyber fantasy. I even read up on bones and stuff, to fig out what would happen, really, inside. And when I imagined it really, really hard, I could almost feel it.)
this was - a thank you poem - i mean - uh - yeh. i could go for the splintered little bones of the hands. i could
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