THE LOST TAPES Vol.21

   993
   an offer of sanctity
   martyrs the brothers
   martyr the earth 

***

sat at the backseat of the uber, tuning the bass
what a funny-looking man checking me out from the other car
traffic is jammed, rush hour, let’s make a new friend
I nod, he nods back. two fingers up, rock on
he starts rocking with an air guitar
I follow him up with the bass,
and we enjoy that couple minutes of pretend live performance
not a single word in exchange
oovoo javer looks at me strangely on the rear view mirror
funny man signals to hand over the guitar
I do, and watch him have fun playing an off rhythm mess
fucking up the strings I just tuned
but who cares, rock on, and we jam to his bass solo
then he hands it back to me, and I play my bass solo
and we go back and forth in this insane duel until, totally out of juice, we both just sit down to take a breather
then I notice that we’re close to actually getting out of the jam
first him, than me
we wave our goodbyes in silence
and there in the distance I can see him,
the middle-aged country man, wearing a raggedy trucker hat,
tongues out, speeding away showing me his devil horns
“How am I driving?” 

***

    — I’m telling you. Sometimes you just need to cut that umbilical cord, that emotional umbilical cord that connects him to you. — says girl #1 — Be strong, sister; men are all just babies.
   — Well... — sighs girl #2, not taking that shit — There’s something you hasn’t consid...
   — I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want you giving reason to men, you whore — cuts girl #1 right away, and that’s the end of the conversation. 

***

   And after that once, recently, when I saw you, Calliope
   I’ve been seeing you now all the time.
   Anywhere I go, everywhere I turn
   I find you hidden in shiny precious stones,
   In the gleaming beauty of water,
   In the face of the maidens.
   And I realized, now for sure, that you came back to me not as a memory in delight, but as the ghost of my curse.
   An old nemesis before lost in oblivion,
   And now showing a real, sick vitality.
   It saddens me, dear, that it got to this point
   Knowing it is irreparable my mistake,
   That I may not beg your pardon.
   So now ‘tis my life lost once again in delirium, in an ocean of your countenance only.

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