To Be of Use

The perhaps unhealthy obsession with Smog continues. Below are the lyrics to a song that cycled through my head last night at Home Depot, as I cried hotly and darkly and confusedly in the bathroom. And who did I cry for? It wasn't just me. He was happy, perhaps manically so, and this made my own sadness so much worse, because I knew it was a matter of time - minutes - hours - before the ax fell, and the seeming strength and display of support would crumble and turn on me. And of course, and indeed, it did.

Grabbing the Glock out of the bedside table, "Is this what it takes? Is this what I have to do? Is this what you want?"

My adrenalin not so much as registering the tiniest spike. "Put it away."

My window at home was left open, anyway. The cats needed food, maybe. I needed my tears, my screams, my talking to no-one. Blessed by the effort, I slept.


Most of my fantasies are of
Making someone else come
Most of my fantasies are of
To be of use
To be of some hard
Simple
Undeniable use

Like a spindle
Like a candle
Like a horseshoe
Like a corkscrew

To be of use
To be of use

Most of my fantasies are of
Making someone else come
On a horse
Over palms laid
On the threshold
On the coming day

Coming day
Coming day come