AND WELCOME BACK
2
C H I L L E R
T H E A T E R
wind chimes blowing
the
ones
we bought
together
in
that strange little shop
in
Chinatown
years
ago
ones
we bought
together
in
that strange little shop
in
Chinatown
years
ago
on
a
a
snowy
sunday
morning
on
the way
to
breakfast
after
a
later than usual
night out
the way
to
breakfast
after
a
later than usual
night out
the
one
with
the
old woman
one
with
the
old woman
black bunned hair
imitation crystal lozenge chain
of
half-lens reading glasses
looped
around
of
half-lens reading glasses
looped
around
pale
papery
neck
like long ago
sales ladies at Macey's
sales ladies at Macey's
too
busy
filling out lottery ticket slips to wait on us
so
we put the money on the counter and left
chimes
busy
filling out lottery ticket slips to wait on us
so
we put the money on the counter and left
chimes
loudly
j
i g
n L g
e n n
A g i
J L
no bag
no receipt
feeling absurdly guilty
afraid somebody would think we were shoplifters and call the cops
They were supposed to bring luck
The noise
clitter
clatter
sing
song
of
exquisitely tapered
ghost nails
strumming
pale
milk white
jade harps
of
C e l e s t i a l
contrivance
in
accordance
with
some
universal harmonic tao
increasingly annoying
knives
scratching
scritch against
bone
tongueless
yowls leaching
from stitched together lips
More than once I wanted to rip them down
smash them to bits
hurl the bits
out
the
window
Dusty now
dust
everywhere
c
o
b
b
i
n
g
in
corners
more
shroud
than
web
like
That stupid plant
you
fussed
over
so
dead now
no
coming back
this
time
Witchy pendant still hanging on the wall
souvenir of your
h
i
p
p
y
d
i
p
p
y
commune days
Sickeningly
sweet
smell of incense
still
sometimes lingers when air is
still
atmospheric pressure low
humidity high
Floor gritty with salt
chalk marks vaguely visible
Sort of thing you'd do
I didn't have much faith in it
but figured
what the hell
you were the one who believed in it
so
maybe...
The Dylan song
we both put on
almost all our playlists
the one from before blood on the tracks
before blond on blond
jesus he was barely old enough to drink how did he do it
comes on again
morphed through the decades
Transformer
like
from
vinyl
to 8 track
to cassette
to ceeedeee
to digitalized etherealness.
One of the many things we had in common now just about the last
Head propped against ratty sofa arm
mirrors shrouded
but I still don't look at them
Plenty of booze
but it doesn't help anymore
Lights on lights off doesn't matter
If they're on they somehow go off
POP
POP POP
i
n
g
out
too much of that weird energy
suddenly in the room
If they're off they somehow come on
ONE
2
3
4
at a time
room to room
wall to wall
table to table
bulbs broken
plugs unplugged
doesn't matter
things around here have a way of not paying attention to that sort of thing anymore
And you never liked the dark
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