Original Post: http://thomaspatricklevy.com/2013/09/10/paper-darts-vol-5/
I am going to do something you can’t ever talk about. I am going to be really fucking quick. I am going to turn all these rocks into flowers, I am going to turn the flowers into circles and then, in the morning, when there is no fog, you will sit in the circle and you will say YOUR CIRCLES ARE NOT REALLY CIRCLES. You know how this must feel. I take you home and then you go to sleep. I take you home and there is lots of fog. I am yelling things and you are putting together the pieces of a dream. I say I WOULD HAVE YOUR HAIR A MESS. I do something that embarrasses you. My skin is hot so we use aloe and then we do something that you tell your friends all about. The fog is in the bathroom and on the mirror, the fog is in the hallway and the bedroom. I can’t see you but you’re pretty, I can’t see you but that’s okay.
You look like everyone I have ever seen. You’re feet are all blistered. You walk like a warped floorboard and I say THE GEOMETRY IS ALL WRONG. You are all shampoo and shoulders. The water has just appeared. You are almost all panties. I don’t notice what your fingers are doing when you’re not talking loud enough. Your are all shampoo and shoulders and panties. I say THOSE SHOES ARE THE WRONG SHOES. I use your shampoo despite my shame. I don’t know how to touch you so I say I WANT TO TOUCH YOU. I don’t know how to speak to you so I say I AM GOING TO COUGH ALL RIGHT. I can’t seem to stop and still your hair is perfect. I tie ropes to the ceiling and I tie ropes to your ankles. I say I DO NOT WANT TO HURT. I say YOUR SOLES ARE SHARP. Your hair barely moves in the air. Your hair barely moves even though we’re moving really fucking fast. I’m trying to turn your circles into memories. I keep thinking BAMBOO BAMBOO BAMBOO. You look like no one I have ever seen. You walk away and I say YOU’RE SHIRT IS TOO DAMN LONG.
These hills are old. I pull years of string out of my throat. I rest my head against your belly. This is mostly your fault. The years are rivers. The rivers are old and they flow down between your shoulders. We thread like string between these hills. We fuck and we fray and we spit. I am worried. You say THESE HILLS WERE MADE FOR RIVER. You say THESE HILLS WERE MADE FOR GOATS. My string was made to make you warm but you are never warm. The windows are fogged, but not for the right reasons. This river runs alright. I say EVERYTHING IS MOSTLY YOURS. I say EVERYTHING IS MOSTLY YOUR FAULT. This river runs all night. We’re going to drown between these hills. We’re not going to sleep very well. You don’t say anything. The river flows from your mouth.