A girl wanders down a street and each obstacle results in the loss of one of her senses. |
Jenny wanders down an empty street The concrete ribbon, blue in the night. The foliage around her, Swarming with creepy crawlies, Alive with clicking and buzzing and chirps. Jenny walks solemnly through the noise. Then a black bird flies down from the trees And tells her she won’t need to hear anymore And pokes holes in her eardrums With his long, sharp beak. The symphony of the critters dies. Jenny keeps walking, cutting through the night. Suddenly, a shock of white ahead. A shock of white, beating, illuminated by an endless beam of light Jenny picks up the mass, a weight wrapped in tissue. She pulls at the paper It tears as she removes it in sticky strands When the white is gone A human heart beats in Jenny’s cupped hands It’s still warm, still pulsating, though slightly decayed As human hearts cannot live outside the body. Jenny pockets the heart and keeps walking. Only steps later, the same black bird flies out of his tree The bird cocks his small, black head Blinks, And pokes out her eyes With his long, sharp beak. The beam of light sputters and dies. Jenny perseveres through the darkness, Inching forward, taking hesitant steps, Gliding her foot forward before she moves, So as to not to trip and fall. An obstacle goes unnoticed And Jenny takes her uneasy step right into the hurdle She tumbles through the night and onto the concrete She lands on her chin And her jaw is forced shut, With her soft, spongy tongue in between. The blood gushes into her mouth The taste is metallic, but sweet. The black bird flutters from his tree Jenny feels his breeze, the brush of feathers against her skin She can’t hear him, but she knows Her clips out her tongue, With his long, sharp beak The taste of blood dies. Jenny feels her way down the lonely street On her hands and knees, She runs her hand over every inch she travels. The concrete changes to grease She’s sliding her hand over and oil slick She makes buttery figure eights And lets her fingers play on the smooth, black puddle. She raises her hand to her nose and inhales, Pulling the powerful smell of gasoline through her nostrils Her sensors tingle She lets the breath out through her mouth The black bird falls out of his tree in a downward swoop For a few moments, Jenny stews in the silence Then the bird clips off her nose, With his long, sharp beak. The odor of gasoline dies. Jenny continues along the dark, silent street. Her steps traveling through her like small, static shocks She drags her fingers along the concrete Feeling the bumps and unevenness in the road Reading her way though the night. Jenny passes gently through a spider’s web That a black widow had spun from tree to tree. A glistening tapestry, Draped across the street. Jenny feels the brush of eight legs at the tip of her finger She feels the hasty climb up her arm and over her shoulder She squirms from the tickle She feels a gust of wind, she feels the bird on her shoulder She reaches up to stroke him, His chest inflates and the vibrations of his purring Make her fingers tremble. Her lifts off of her shoulder and flaps his large, regal wings. Jenny goes numb. The beating in her pocket dies, The sting of the scrape on her chin dies, And Jenny, herself, dies. . |