WALKING ON THIN ICE

 
 
LIVE JIVE FACTORY DRAMA NIGHT

“You look tired. You got lines on your faces.”

“Faces?”

“Yeah, you got about fifty faces.”

“Fifty faces to leave your lover.”

“That sounds like a song.”

“It is, Paul Simon. Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover. Same album that has One Man’s Ceiling is Another Man’s Floor, which is good advice.”

“Wow. What a compound collusion of coincidence. Are you upset because I’m not spending enough time with you?”

“No. No problem.”

“I’m on fire. I can get really crazy when I write poetry. I haven’t even bathed or dressed yet.”

“I just need a couple nights’ good sleep.”

“I love you.”

Smith & Lady
 
 
A COMPOUND COMPILATION BY BUSTER BALLS
 
 
Meanwhile the telephone rings like it’s asking a question…

“Hello?”

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me.”

“Who you?”

“Private Detective Smokey Grey. We noticed footprints on your ceiling. Telepsychopathic cockroaches with Rorschach thumbnails. We found a dead moth near the door and a ceiling on the floor and the eternal blast of hourglass sand.”

“Oh, hello.”

“I’m not well thought out now, just plucking serendipitous candy from heaven–heck, a fellow could be covered in false dichotomy–they say the poetry thieves of Barcelona* spray white poo from the metro overpass—they come down to you and try to help you clean it off. Meanwhile they pick your pockets for your notebook. Shit. I’m afraid if I tell you too much I’ll jerk yr tears until I’m desensitized, like kissing the rubbery mouth of a sister.”

“Yeah, I remember you. Yr a readymade, Smokey, and you don’t even know it. You’re like Bukowski’s crapper. & you know my name is Polly Pureheart, so cheer up. How bout you walk with me onto this new dance floor of applied metaphor? They say you can make babies and they turn into books. But the cockroaches are everywhere & everyone has a Bugs Bunny complex. He’s a Napoleon for our common cultural context. Here, have a cigar.”
 
Shady
 
 

CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE

So here I was thinkin, Smokey – all these casualties, and they all appear to be women. This gave me gumption like an agent with a missive. Who coulda known the fallout in the crossfire… who coulda known… I wasn’t even interested, Smokey – but the tides were pulling and the moon, even the moon was in collusion and it wanted me to write about it. So I had to think hard, real hard.

I thought hard. I said, “Sweetie, please don’t erase yrself.”

She put the gun to her head and I said, “No, Sweetie, please don’t erase yrself – we liked you naked!”

“Oh no! Was I naked?” she said. “YES! And it was MARVELOUS!”

I don’t think she realized what I did for her. Of course, I couldn’t tell her when I did it because that would be like begging the question. But I’ll tell you, my private confidant. I strapped one on!

“You mean, Shady is a woman?”

Yes, ho hum. This is academic, Smokey, & I say ‘academic’ with a pointed connotation.

“Watch out…”

Eh, so what.

“What else happened at the office? I hear all the girls are in drag.”

O, we’re all playing with our batteries. There are cushioned rooms in chintz lined institutions where we put on boas & tickle & giggle each other in delight. Everyone’s privy. And I told this woman, “I was just cross dressing to make you feel comfortable, baby – I figured the slick talk and a hot gun would worry your precious little buttons. I wanted to dust you with hot powder. I wanted to get in character, cut out the small talk. Who gives a rat’s ass about obsequious tit for tat tag? I LOVE you darling.” I was a real Peppy le peu.

“So, what’s really buggin yr lil button nugget, Polly?”

You’ve been asking me that for days. I’m Shady. I killed Polly. Anyways, it’s the dame. I really like her. I figured I could use some batteries and get hooked up with shared sisterhood. But she don’t trust me no more, Smokey.

“What’d she say?”

“Why, you lousy mink rat! You killed the rabbit! You killed Bugs Bunny!”

“I thought I was Bugs Bunny.”

No, you’re Smokey Grey. & Bugs Bunny ain’t owned by no poet – he’s an archetype for all of us. There was a bunny though. He just ignored me when I asked for a slice of pizza. And he had some nerve, cutting me off in traffic, not even waiting to see if there’s a pay day. He’s rabbit road kill now. Yeah, I’d got the calculus on his jive, unspun considerations, unfolding concentric ripples butterflying into countless body bags. I tell ya, it was like shining a flashlight after hours in the basement, pickin at chitlins in the back lit brain pan. It was like polyps and tumors behind eyeballs. You couldn’t have contemplated all the corpses, Smokey, there was potential for a real blood bath.

“But is it poetry?”

Who CARES what it is. Yr reading it, aren’t ya? Next thing you’ll be asking me about rules on what to call haiku. I draw the line, Baby, I draw the line.

“Who exactly did all these bodies, Shady?”

Well, oh, those men? I had a penchant for protection. It was all for you. Here’s the scoop. They wanted to keep their muses on ice–personal freezers, private collections. They were like cannibals. They wanted to make necklaces and shoelaces outta us, Honey.

“What are these splatter patterns on the wall? I see a burned out shadow of a ladder that looks like Hiroshima happened right here in our backyard. And riddle me THIS: who did the women, Polly? I see you’re carrying a machine gun, aren’t ya, Polly.”

I’ll letcha call me Polly outta consideration for old habits. I tried a trippy pole vault trick with a machine gun, and I got a little excited. I guess I’m an equal opportunity offender. It’s like I used pretty indiscriminate weapons, bunker busting nukes, depleted uranium. My rough hands fumbled for stone age tools good for whacking nails & puppy dog tails, but there are a lot of things available on the black market. Make rock go boom, fly thru air. No one told me it was a nuke. Smith tells me when he makes collages he grabs whatever’s within reach. Seems a practical philosophy, as tho by extension we could send a bucket to the moon.

“That sounds like buckets of shady gravy to me, Baby.”

O, or mounds out of mons-hills. Or a crock of flaming poo shit trick. & I tell you, I ain’t your Baby, I ain’t Lady (we got her in hiding.) I ain’t even Polly. I’m Shady. I’m in character. I got a master plan for fertilization and I’m the one gonna be spreading jism. Seems better that way. Good for the muses. Safe for the flock. I ain’t writing no flirtations. Cuz you gotta act with HEART. You don’t act with heart, you’re the biggest disbeliever & everyone can see it. Now, see this bullet?”

“Ah, yep.”

I bit this bullet for you, my love. & that’s the final punctuation on this chapter.
 
 
Shady
 

TWO STEP TANGO

Smith?

“He’s in bed.”

The voices?

“O, those, in my head. The characters just waiting for a story.”

Whatcha got there?

“A half eaten peach looks like a worm used to inhabit. I threw it in the trashcan where it turned into vinegar.”

I don’t think you should be going out all drunk like this, Smokey.

“Shut up and go back to bed. I hear there’s good fishing out there, mysteries, casts & characters.”

It’s a wile world out there, Smokey. Words are like boomerangs. You never know when one might come back to getcha.

“I have a pretty good idea, woman.”

Shhhh! I’m Shady. I’m a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. I’m a regular ole Victor, Victoria! Here, at least wear a helmet & a condom before you go out there.

“I look retarded in helmets.”

You’re not supposed to use that word – that’s not politically correct.

“What word?”

Retarded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

That’s OK, Smokey. That’s why we got the two-step tango. We can play both sides. You’re like a bona fide toilet seat, and you don’t even know it. Heck. You didn’t even know Asian from Oriental til I tole ya. We can have our cake & eat it too. But I got the inside track Smokey, & that’s why you work with me.

“Thanks, Polly. Yes, you help me with punctuation. I’m packin lines, you got the bandages.”

OK, go get online, kiddo, you got a four hours until the author has to go do a volunteer job.

“OK. Give me a kiss, woman. You got wise crackin lips, yr my forties movie star. Goodbye.”

Go see what you can make of it. Good bye, and good luck. Now, go log in.
 
Shady