Like This

An insistent song
stuck in my head again
sends me roaming
lost in sacred memories
and black ripples of longing.
In the engine's impatient growl
I hear my own hunger
shooting through the rain down the Interstate
trying always to outrun
the legless and infinite
but always lost behind
in a corrosive chaos of churning need.

suddenly,
there you stand
huddled beneath a withered umbrella
along the side of the road.
no vehicle,
no cell phone,
no map,
no chance.

leaning on the wheel,
pulling over,
rolling down the window:
acrid asphalt fumes
and a driving downpour.
smile
make nice;
soothing mouth noises
A ride?
certainly!
the door shuts
the trap closes
my idling camaro roars, and
we pull away into the storm.

all too soon, your stop arrives
a graceful swoop to the side,
pulling over
the door opens
"Thank you, goodbye."

Watching your back
I try so hard to turn the key, start the engine
(leave you behind)
but I'm already standing up
(too late)
already reaching for the sheet in the back seat
(can't stop)
I didn't mean to do this
when I left home
(so I thought)
We lie first and most
to ourselves.

With a practiced wrist-flick,
the sheet unfolds, up and over
an avenging cotton ghost,
given weight by the rain, falls
over your head
(gasping, surprise)
I yank on the corners of the sheet
my prey stumbles, falling
his shout of alarm silenced in the soaked sheet

standing over the fallen hitchhiker
the rope slips over his head
around his throat with serpentine grace
a noose becomes a leash so easily
I stare down at him
his face is gone, nonexistant
he has no face
he has no life
he is nothing
he is mine.

I tell him:
this is where the sidewalk cracks,
where rain leaks in
this is where the road stops
and the end begins.
we're at the crossroads now
of heaven and hell
one for me;
one for you.
time for us to go now
we do it
like
this...

I hide behind the parked car
vibrating with need
compulsion at a fever pitch, racing
my heart, shaking me
with awe in its primal presence.

the blade is unsteady
the first spiraling cut is a little uneven
but soon enough
the rhythm catches
and in the end
his ruined flesh speaks in silence
louder than any words.
digging deeper, angling the dirk
under the sternum, snapping it
trying to find the center
where is it?
it's not here?
the left side of the chest
empty, silent
devoid of heartbeat
devoid of a heart...?
ah!
situs inversus!
an anatomical anomaly
the mystery solved,
finally I find it
this crimson emblem of love and life
cold air wrinkles the pericardium
staring into the violated cavity,
I find myself wondering
how long I'll be able
to survive the strain
of the cannibal lifestyle.
I find myself wondering
how long I'd be able
to survive the strain
of abstinence.
no one knows what addiction
*really* is.
they always wince,
flinch,
groan,
vomit,
and wonder
how we do such things.
It's easy;
we do it
like this...