So I Told Her


I was alive then in the rich and the desperate dark. She thought I was deep so I
swallowed the river and she drowned happily after every other, but
I don’t want to be myself anymore. I want to enter becoming like a tail explaining away
its dog.
I work for the padded beaks of dull bosses jabbing up your leg like a slow shiver.
No witness. No evidence. No heart. A little sincere desperation. But the psychic chatter of
it lisping into the ragged future, well, it just can’t be puddled off like that, as if it were
some ancient dog eating rain.
So we separated membering from remembering. We lived on with each part, with
each otherwise. She thought I was even deeper. I was, but it wasn’t a place I could stay.
Then a blind sexual salamander of fear interrupted the lunar anarchist’s meeting at
the Every Other Night Cafe. The tiniest limp in my personal orbit had snubbed the
bare-chested moon.
The woman in question, filled with unnecessary windows, slipped the red of a
visual secret, the red of a voyeur’s tired eyes, into the immediate celestial body of the
fever. Which was mine.
“I’m still infected, but not so wildly,” I replied.
“Such a terrible weight of nobodies,” she whimpered, screaming with visitation
rights, giving away repressed desires like nervous insects burning to open the store. Then
just burning.
“Oh my God,” I said, though I haven’t one but only a mist like the breath of
thousands of mice, “no matter who she loves, she makes a job of it.”
There was something outside on the inside. It appeared to be a tiny house made
from the mating cries of small mammals, the emotional uncertainties spilling out like the
fear, which is pressure released by persistent hunger. Individual elements without voices
scattered, frantically searching for speech, their tiny heart attacks ticking. You could hear
them long before the body building fell, right there in front of the station.
We choose the platform, we don’t choose the train.

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.