Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Pfft, Blow This Heavy Weight Away

The crows have cleared the fat from the balls on the balcony and we are strapping boots to our feet and heading for the hills. Or if not the hills, the flat, the long roads that stretch out like icing sugar on a plate glass window. Things that are transparent and the see-through logic is this: it's nearly time for the spring.

I looked at the weather today and it said sun snow clouds snow cold cold cold, and I asked why we can't just give it all up already and move to Palenque and take the mushrooms and swim in a cool clear waterfall where the Mexican panpipe can synthaesthese the droplets and the vines?

I would like to glue rose petals to the frames of pictures and send them to my beloveds as telegrams and tape.

I would like to mix sherbet fountains and planetary dust, and snort it on the sweet steel overhang of a river bridge, and feel the spray of the night come upon me, and promise my sweethearts I'll be back soon and I'll have all manner of twixes and stories to tell.

Do you think we could work out how to hypnotise our daughters and send them out into the world with mimeographed tattoos on the dimples of their thighs and a memory that you don't need to spend all this time in front of the mirror fretting about the fringes of your hair, because the world is a hungry and lustful place, and it isn't difficult really, once you teach your mouth how to move?

I learned this lesson and it is a ripe and overhanging fruit ready to be picked again, day after day, and shoved in the maw of my gob. I learned this lesson and at first it was a shock and then it was a delight, it was my heart swelling like whipped egg whites, like meringue in a cool oven, drying out but becoming huge and light and feathery. Which would you prefer? A moist and heavy heart or this thing like a sigh or a cloud or a pffft blown between teeth?

Your heart is a dusty meringue on the baker's window ledge, peering through the smudged glass, looking for the sun.

Your heart is a clear glass bell with a diamond clapper bouncing from side to side, on the waltzers, feeling your heart's heart whizz, whoopee, hurrah.

Your heart is all these things and more and also just blood and feral guts, but I have no time to talk of that today, because I am feeling the ooze of spring heading back into these dark dismal days, and I am seizing it in my ladylike teeth, or maybe I am just exhaling, pfft, blow this heavy weight away.

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