There was a night when your car bit through the amber coat
of the Surrey greens and wedged its way behind my eye
Cold and silver as an ice pick, or a stake, or a bullet.
For a moment I thought your headlights on the hailstones were static,
grasping a connection between my teeth and your wrist swerving away
from the timber wolf on Onslow Road.
I had dreamed of us getting into a car crash—
You teaching me to drive on the wrong side of the road,
and me covering my mouth—a giggle to me is a scream to you,
such is sod's law.
The law permits us to kill wolves when we see them in the road.
In the cloudswell of static, the pelt could have been a mirror,
or an old movie projected, or the film we spat out
when aborting what was born between us.
I imagine a baby at the bottom of a well,
and Jesus asking the Samaritan woman to fish for it
until the film reel weighs down the nets.
You could knit another one with the scenes I could show you,
something to swaddle the stone-bellied cub in.
That's how I was born!
I was spat out of the tense mouth beneath a moonish eye
in thick black and brown coils,
wound tight and boxed-in. A means of correction.
Are clumps of film a life? Are they entitled to an inheritance?
Is anyone entitled to love?
I thought about it the first time I watched The Flavor of Love,
the first time I fasted from you—Not knowing you were faster.
Putlocker still gave me the pins and needles at the edge of the screen,
needles could easily be the strands of a wolf's pelt,
needles pinning the butterfly
effects of static
from pins and needles on the old TV screen
inherited now to her younger flashier daughter.
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⢀⡀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣏⣤⣴⣿
⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣭⣤⣶⠾⠛⢉⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿
⣿⠏⠁⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠒⠛⢉⡥⠾⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⣿
Well, you've never seen it before so I'll tell you. Basically, it's The Bachelor except the man they're pursuing is Flava Flav—y'know, from Public Enemy—yeah, and instead of roses there are clocks. And, the function of a clock is—
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⡿⣛⣩⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
The worst thing about you:
predictability.
I always have a looming feeling that you will creep into the house
with the spiders under my door. 11:11 like clockwork
and you're up with the moon. A clandestine envoy.
I always used to ask myself why I never saw you in the daylight.
When you stand before the moon, your wisps of fading hair become a halo.
I bent the edges into silver with some pliers.
I made you a rosary.
I made myself some chainmail.
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣻⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⢛⣻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⣿
⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⢉⡀⠄⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⡿⠟⢋⣁⣤⣶⣿⣿
⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠠⠞⠛⠋⠉⢁⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿
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The trouble with reality TV is that you can never remember anyone's name. On The Flavor of Love, Flava Flav gives all of the girls in the house a nickname. We all remember the standouts: Hottie, Red Oyster, Hoops, Pumpkin, and the one nobody can forget, New York. She's the one everyone remembers, the only big name to come out of the show, the wolf everyone sees coming.
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠶⣶⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢛⣻⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿
⣿⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⢀⡀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣏⣤⣴⣿
The first time I saw you pick up a pen, I saw you write your name and I began to hunger for what once was mine.
I thought of how I'd like to eat your knuckles.
They shone bright beneath your skin, lycanthropic red hands,
like the moon through the trees when we swerved in your car.
I thought of how smooth the bone would be,
what nice hands you have,
how downy wrists and fingers would match the carnage in the road,
What nice wrists you have,
how sorry a sight, the hailstones buffering our vision,
what nice eyes you have,
better to see the moon reflected in the eyes of a dead thing
than shining a torch on the reels of its guts, looking for the negative.
All the better to see you there in the moon,
All the better to see you than never all.
What nice hands you have on the wheel as the car careens.
Looking at them, I think of how I would always calm myself down
as a child, holding my wrist or my forearm in my mouth, pacing the room
like a dog carrying its own leash.
Undomesticated, a wolf will chase and follow, chase and follow,
a dog will chase a car, chase and follow, but has no idea
what it would actually do if it ever caught up.
That's how it felt driving with you, mirror images of a wolf and a moon
reflected back at us through your windscreen.
Seeing your knuckle in the sky and my hair laid out for a road,
I begged you to call the wolf by her name.
Do you see that up ahead? God, she won't move!
All she does is chase ahead of us. Why won't she move?
She's fast, but you're faster.
You have to stop or else you'll hit her.
Don't you see? She's right there in front of us!
Tell her to get out of there. Get out! God, can't you see her?
Please, move. Move, won't you? Why won't you move out of the way?
Can't you see she's going to die? Move the wheel before I bite down
and make you! Can't you see? Get out, or I will make you
See her
See her
See her
⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⢉⡀⠄⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⡿⠟⢋⣁⣤⣶⣿⣿
⣿⣃⣤⣶⠟⠉⠀⢀⠠⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠾⠛⠋⢉⣠⣴⣾⣿⠿⠛⠋⣉⣿
And there's the fight between New York and Hottie over a handbag or a jacket or something. This is the scene everyone knows about even if they've never seen it—The grain clears for the iconic moment—And, New York says "I'm the wolf! You see me coming!"
⣿⣀⣤⣶⣿⡿⠟⢋⣡⣾⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿
⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⢀⠴⠛⠉⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡶⣟⣡⣤⠖⠊⠀⠀⠀⣀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿
⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⣀⣠⣤⣶⡾⢋⣁⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿
Hungry for the moon in your hands and pierced with the needles of broken glass, I saw you both stand over me and was thankful that you didn't leave me there. You did not throw me down the well. You took me back, hanging my head out of the window to look at the reflection of your hands as it followed me home, falling asleep to the sound of moon-man reeling in the stone-bellied dog singing about a light that never goes out.
