Zero Bldg.
Monday, December 12, 2005
I got a subpoena of jury duty in the mail today. Only, it was from the Superior Court of Baldwin County. Obviously, I owed someone a phone call.
So I notified the clerk's office that I was no longer a resident of Balwin Co. and in fact hadn't been in a year. The ish laid in my voter reg. status still pinning me to Milledgeville since I haven't had cause to change it. Now I do, as I have no interest in getting up at 7 AM on January 9th to drive to Milledgeville to sit in traverse court. I'm starting school that day.
In other news, I took my last exam of the quarter today. It took about twenty minutes. Then I went downtown and had a burger at Walton's. It was quite rewarding.
I haven't made with the updates in like a hundred months, so here's what's happening with me now:
*I work at Stone Mountain as an audio tech. I'll be there until the 30th when the season ends.
*I have a new hat:
So I notified the clerk's office that I was no longer a resident of Balwin Co. and in fact hadn't been in a year. The ish laid in my voter reg. status still pinning me to Milledgeville since I haven't had cause to change it. Now I do, as I have no interest in getting up at 7 AM on January 9th to drive to Milledgeville to sit in traverse court. I'm starting school that day.
In other news, I took my last exam of the quarter today. It took about twenty minutes. Then I went downtown and had a burger at Walton's. It was quite rewarding.
I haven't made with the updates in like a hundred months, so here's what's happening with me now:
*I work at Stone Mountain as an audio tech. I'll be there until the 30th when the season ends.
*I have a new hat:
Monday, December 05, 2005
An Obvious Valentine Conceit
Against my better judgment, I
took the old bow from above
the mantle, gave it
to you.
Unloaded cord strained
behind your forefingers, pulled
taut to cheek, released
with a snap and sent
slipping, spinning
from your grasp,
your arm to shoulder to chest
rattled in sympathy. We chuckled.
I went to the kitchen for drinks.
My head in the cooler, I heard
your laugh ride atop
terrible scratching, torn up
chords, serrated sounds.
Bottle in each hand, I watched you
tear the limb across the strings
of my guitar. “Everything you listen to
sounds like this.
We should start a band” you said
and fell beside yourself
on the couch.
The bow skittered to the floor and
I joined you on the sofa.
Bottles at our lips, we imbibed
without the weapon.
From the necks of our drinks
we kept furtive watch over the
thin crescent of elm still
on the floor. “Do you
even have arrows for that
thing?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t you worry?”
At this I smiled, took your
soft hand in mine. “About
you?”
Eyebrow raised, a look of purpose
overtook your smile, you locked
on the bow, grimacing,
empty bottle fumbling, then
an arrow notched
pinched in your hand.
And you stood over me
trajectory trained in
at my heart. “Where
did this come from?”
I looked from the steel
tip to your face. “I thought you
brought it over here.”
Tremors of laughter roiled
through you. Screaming giggles
connected us and I
lay helpless, smiling
at your shaking
drunken mercy.
I could only laugh
as the missile plunged through me
pinned me to the couch.
Now
I will drink as you push
the arrow through my chest and
out my shoulder, spicing the blood
soaking deltas into couch
and clothes. Let you
plug the holes with pills
from your purse. Sobbed
apologies met
only with smiles
from sobered eyes and
a request not to twist the thing
so much as it bores on through.
Under your control—one
long steady pull
on arrow
and bottle—do I
trust your tenderness
and the hardening
of my blood.
Against my better judgment, I
took the old bow from above
the mantle, gave it
to you.
Unloaded cord strained
behind your forefingers, pulled
taut to cheek, released
with a snap and sent
slipping, spinning
from your grasp,
your arm to shoulder to chest
rattled in sympathy. We chuckled.
I went to the kitchen for drinks.
My head in the cooler, I heard
your laugh ride atop
terrible scratching, torn up
chords, serrated sounds.
Bottle in each hand, I watched you
tear the limb across the strings
of my guitar. “Everything you listen to
sounds like this.
We should start a band” you said
and fell beside yourself
on the couch.
The bow skittered to the floor and
I joined you on the sofa.
Bottles at our lips, we imbibed
without the weapon.
From the necks of our drinks
we kept furtive watch over the
thin crescent of elm still
on the floor. “Do you
even have arrows for that
thing?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t you worry?”
At this I smiled, took your
soft hand in mine. “About
you?”
Eyebrow raised, a look of purpose
overtook your smile, you locked
on the bow, grimacing,
empty bottle fumbling, then
an arrow notched
pinched in your hand.
And you stood over me
trajectory trained in
at my heart. “Where
did this come from?”
I looked from the steel
tip to your face. “I thought you
brought it over here.”
Tremors of laughter roiled
through you. Screaming giggles
connected us and I
lay helpless, smiling
at your shaking
drunken mercy.
I could only laugh
as the missile plunged through me
pinned me to the couch.
Now
I will drink as you push
the arrow through my chest and
out my shoulder, spicing the blood
soaking deltas into couch
and clothes. Let you
plug the holes with pills
from your purse. Sobbed
apologies met
only with smiles
from sobered eyes and
a request not to twist the thing
so much as it bores on through.
Under your control—one
long steady pull
on arrow
and bottle—do I
trust your tenderness
and the hardening
of my blood.
