how to explain life to a live girl


How to explain why only five stars available to praise this piece, Tetiana? So glad I stopped by en route to tardy returns to mine own fields. I kept waiting for denouement and a door surprised me to go searching for Harvey’s Hop-Sister to tell her of such sandwiched delights and drippy floors. Thanks.

unbolt me

they walk around the room cuddling a dead hare
smearing the floor with stale syrupy gold
they cry out loud that awakening is here
exactly as beuys has foretold

i lie on the floor trying not to sleep
but the damned gold flashes before my eyes
here i balance over the greasy steep
falling through the creaky rickety skies

and i see in my dream how a huge dead hare
cuddles me to its soft warm belly
runs its paws over my messy hair
treats me to marmite and orange jelly

the hare whispers of shoes and sealing wax
of shooting stars over the seashore
that a worldview’s a matter of parallax
…i wake up to the sound of a slammed door

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2019

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2 thoughts on “how to explain life to a live girl

    • I never have tried. Learnt by kindergaten it is best to say one “no” after nineteen consecutive “yesses.” The five minutes spent in finding out what you had just dissented and the resultant development of a cogent response – in own persona – meant five weeks of uninterrupted navel-gazing. And decades later I got to overhear a girlfriends’ telephone conversation (from my then-owner’s observational point-of-view): “He quit watching his football game (it was halftime) and talked with me for a whole fifteen minutes (it was 12 – the length of halftime). It was wonderful. Such a good listener (I did most of the talking).” Worked almost as well as one dirty sock strewn deliberately just off the beaten livingroom path: I get the standared “you’r such a pig” lecture and not once does she look up into he rafters in the open-plan avant old (vice garde) rental hovel by the university into which I was air-drying a fawn some damnfool had shot minutes before I got there to tell that person hunting – and even paching – season was verboten as deer were raising fawns at that time. I field butchered – after skinning, etc. of course – the small (and Florida deer are greyhoud-size at that age) so getting it up into the rafterrs was no big deal. Of course I had to drain the sblood. My ladylove even commented that the terrine of fresh offal I served that evening with fresh juniper, shiitake and port was inspired. Did I detect a hint of liver and kidney, she asked, stretching her gastronomy muscles quite wide. I was so impressed. Later that month we had friends over for a small roast dog done smoker-style. All who attended insisted I tell them where they, too, could buy such delectability, so I told them the truth. Which promptly was unbelieved. You are such a liar, I was accused. So you, see, Tony: I must plead you keep any notionions of gentle-hood sub rosa. I am sure Tati would understand.

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