"...then I will steal this woman, and hang her, with the dog, from the wire.
Exposed to the silver air, she will glitter...I turn the combination to my box, but there is nothing inside..."
 
Jim Carroll
Post Office

twenty years

i entered this world naked, wet and squalling.
the cat blinked at me from the corner of its eye.
fleshy moths and tepid beetles accompanied my crib
and the mobile played a bright and sunny tune.
i learned early the value of lies and wide smiles,
of tiptoes and carnivorous mice,
of shining coins and pre-recorded conversations.
at the age of six i discovered the drain.
down it went all the dirty secrets,
the unwashed heathenic thoughts,
the white lies and unspoken principles.
at the age of fifteen i found the silver wire
and hung my faithlessness out to air in the dewy mid-morning.
the cat tripped on the wire and no longer blinked at me,
the corner of its eye having gone missing last january.