( Slight Return )

For C.& V.

Head. Lips. The teeth behind them, gleaming.
A cock as purple as a bruise sliding down your throat.
Redheads. Blondes.
Redheads. Meat. More meat than you can eat.
Redheads, blondes, twin brunettes.
Steaming at the thought of hips, whips
shiny creatures in leather and silk
wet dreamers slim dancers fast movers slow gliders
" they dance on the springs of the sky "
lip service girls, sisters, solistas of the soir
tiny volcanoes powered by hand
gobble maniacs rim queens
bootsmear specialistas
femmes that go bump in the night
hula dancers cheerleaders barmaids and hitters
slim assassins poised to wreck your life
modern girls smooth but never soft,
not butch but two-fisted just in case
bulk rate women and sissies from central casting
upper class slits with husbands in Connecticut
nubile syphilitics who'll suck your pipe
and break your arm in the same fluid motion
trip trap girls with tricks you never dreamed of
giggling amputees waving their stumps in a certain way
women in leather offset by stainless components
nipple and aureole winking from the top of the dress
you bite down hard
experts at maquillage they can get you off
just the way they paint their nails
Toe queens with Egyptian feet and arab habits
women who call you on the telephone to 'chat'
while they're tied to the bedpost of some midtown hotel
smiling women who slam the door in your face
after you've spent the rent money on cognac
fleshy envelopes you sleep inside and forget the address....
Me, I just want a peaceful life, dream interiors,
shiny parquet floors and stainless steel walls
and your heart your bleeding heart
pinned to my designer boudoir floor
so I can step on it each morning on waking,
Squish, squish
like a rubber bathmat, squish squish.

First there is Texas
with her thin blonde arms
fragile lovely arms disappearing past the fold
of the white shirt,
connected to a body that would doubtless
gleam just right in the night light...
" Gleam " " glisten " " slide " " shiny "
essential ingredients of my hardon vocabulary
" You have the instincts of a butcher "
your brother points out
and I have to hope he's wrong
because you know I was thinking of the way
her arms must be connected to her body
and I fell down in a swoon, on Canal Street
in broad daylight!
And then
there's the kind of woman who likes to tease the animals
she doesn't mean any harm
she just can't resist rapping on the bars of the cage
as she strolls by
head high, breasts reaching for the moon
and we're on some rooftop
we're on some rooftop
and her skin looks softer than the silk of my shirt
" Flesh that photographed like flesh,
you felt you could reach out and touch it"
red hair glinting under sodium lights
she is standing on the roof
and the wind is in her hair
and I am high and I tell her she is that woman
and she laughs and glows and goes
and I'm tasting fragments of her perfume on the breeze
as she purrs, she disappears before my slowly glazing eyes
and this woman says she loves me
she calls me on the phone
she kisses me at parties
she never takes me home
I keep her in the dream and in the real world
her magic motor zooms away
I wave my little handkerchief and leave...
" Hearts on fire " " Don't forget me" " No other love have I "
radio songs and women on the street loading up the memory parts
radio songs to soothe the ravaged heart
and some speed to kickstart the brain and bypass
impossible dreams of redheads hooked in the crook of your arm
all of them so lovely to look at
impossible to know!
So where does it lead you
this conflagration of rapture meat and grief,
these flaming creatures who cut your throat
in the sleazy tunnels of love?
This is what it is:
there is no redhead romping on your bedstead,
just a stunning collection of lovely women
walking away from it all,
walking away from certain disaster
and though I hate to admit it,
I know they are right
they are right, and they still make promises
that you can never keep and they will never keep
and they are so fucking beautiful
that you want to start all over but as usual
it's too late to start all over...
even though that first moment
when someone you have wanted
someone you have really wanted
gives up her mouth to your mouth
and puts her endless arms around you
and her lips are moving like animals scenting blood...
I know I was too funky for you...
you ditched me because I used fifteen dollars
of the money I owed you for the pills
on having my stitches taken out
and I forgot to call you on a Saturday night
when we had a heavy date...
I know I'm not the strong, solvent type...
And You have her phone number on the inside of a match book
you are staring at her phone number
and you will never call her
because you don't know what to say
because when you were writing down the number was the time
when you knew EXACTLY what to say
and now you don't even remember her face because
you were high but she WAS lovely and she probably still is
but you're tongue-tied and you're straight and you feel boring
you feel totally boring
and you have no money AGAIN
and how could she possibly understand
that when you say you have no money
you mean you have
and I know you will never understand that
you will NEVER understand that
I don't understand it myself
and I don't care because when I DO have money
when I do have some money
I will send you telegrams and flowers and other
pointless, expensive gifts
and I won't return your calls
and I'll never sleep with you again
and I know that's no big deal
but it's the best I can do
because I don't care so long as I can be where I want to be
and where I want to be is poised for the dive
the long slow motion plunge into the dark triangle...
apart from that it's all flak and hammer
get in line, get next or go last
it's a jive life a jive life a jive life a jive life
lit by moments of glamour
simplex moments when life tastes sweet
and the rest is damage.

- Max Blagg 1979/1992


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Rob Roth for The Jackie Factory ©1995
Moved to and updated February 2000