something they won’t look behind

was out to dinner the other night and the waiter
his short blonde hair gelled into little pointy bits
peeped my team muertos hat
and asked

“Team Muertos? Oh? What…”

“Muertos means death,” I said quietly from the shadow of the black brim.

“I know that,” he shot back. “I meant what team is it? What do you play?”

“There is no team,” I answered, smiling at him. “I don’t play.”

“Oh!” He said after a moment that seemed to have a bent clock stroke somewhere in it. “Cool!”

He left then to get my “Cranrita.”

 

——-
 

wowwwwww

i keep hitting the gash on my knuckle and banging open its burnt lids
sends a gale of ripe agony into my hand

today a silly and brave voice in my mind laughed
and declared the pain delicious
so i laughed with it
leaned into it
fiercely and my chest rising hard
as it threatened to consume my finger

but it didn’t consume my finger
and i’m still here and i wonder if i even know what pleasure is
or if everything is pleasure, after all.

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You’re currently reading “something they won’t look behind,” an entry on house of nezua

Published:
09.06.08 / 3pm
Category:
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☚ respirar | ☛ shot in the dark