Posted by Atticus on August 14, 2004, at 14:56:09
Pulp, 1997
Dozens of blue-gray corpses
Embedded in the mud
And swirling silt
At the bottom
Of the swampy waters
In the Jersey Meadowlands.
We're dressed in suits,
Fine silk dresses,
Sunday best
Now in ragged filaments,
Cloth and tattered skin
Undulating
In rhythmic accompaniment
To the weeds
Dancing
In the sluggish
Currents.
All victims
Of a killer,
Serial killer
In the city,
Still out there,
Still adding
To our ranks
Every day.Fish suck blobs of
Pulpy flesh
Grown soft as pudding
From our cheeks,
From our foreheads,
From our fingertips,
Nibble our eyes,
And we realize
That the dead
Can feel everything,
Everything,
Each indignity
Heaped upon them,
The worms wriggling
Through our guts,
Turtles gnawing
At our ribs,
It all hurts,
It all hurts
Forever.Eyeless sockets
Sense flat-bottomed skiffs,
Motors churning contrails
Of silver bubbles
Like distant jets
Far overhead.
We hear voices,
The joyous laughter
Of those
Who dwell
Above the water,
And we try
To scream
"We are here!"
But it's pointless,
Useless,
Our tongues
Were devoured
Long ago.
We experience
Our putrefaction
With exquisite
Precision
As each cell
Withers,
Consumed by bacteria.
Time means nothing
In the miasma
Where we pray
And pray
And pray
For an end
To all sensation,
But that won't happen.
Even bones
Groan silently
In eternal pain.My eyes snap open,
See a sweat-soaked
Pillow.
Christ, a dream,
What a fu**ing dream.
Can't believe my mind
Can conjure
Such things.
The sickness takes me,
Third day
With no Xanax,
Used it up
Way too soon.
Joints are locked up
So tightly,
I think
I can hear
Their rusty, grinding
Creaking.
Head's crushed
Under the damp weight
Of its own chemicals.
Phantom fish
Still sting my skin,
Appetites insatiable,
Their assault relentless.
Need a drink,
And not of water.
I fill a glass
With Jack Daniels,
Toss it down
Like juice,
Its fire
Slamming
Into my stomach,
A white-hot
Metal gauntlet
Curled
Into a fist.I spot the goldfish
In their
Globe-like bowl
Atop the kitchen counter,
Snatch it up
And hurl it
Against
The cabinets,
Then watch the fish
Flopping desperately
Among the glass shards
With grim
Satisfaction.
Eat me now,
You bast**ds,
No more free lunch
Tonight.
Light flicks on
Overhead,
A gasp
Over my right shoulder,
And I turn
To see my wife Alyssa,
Her blue irises
Reduced to tiny rafts
Adrift
In seas of white,
Her left hand
Clutched over her mouth.
"Just let them try
To eat me now,"
I say in explanation,
But she's frozen,
Aghast,
As the fish
Shudder
And gasp
And die.I yank open
The fridge,
Snatch up a carton
Of orange juice,
Down a swig.
"With extra pulp,"
The label proclaims,
And I vomit
Into the sink.
The sound
Of weeping
Rises
From the sofa-bed
Behind me,
And I should go to her,
But I don't
Because I can't,
Not anymore.
The dead belong
Under the water,
And their rotting embrace
Is the last thing
The living need.
-- Atticus
poster:Atticus
thread:377646
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20040729/msgs/377646.html