the tenth night:
as i crossed the country the highways spilled out before me like sumi ink on rice paper. i imagined him dipping my brush in the ink, soaking it to full, letting the black drops fall across my chest, my throat, my stomach, creating highways along my skin. i imagined him laying me on a table, eyes covered, feeling the brush slide along my ankle, my calf, my inner thighs. along my hips, inside my wrists and elbows, over the curves of my collarbones. i imagined him standing over me, taking photographs of me like that, creating his own personal cartography of my body, marking his landmarks and naming them as his own.
i wrote this on a piece of paper and set it on the counter of the restroom at the gas station in holt, california.
you can find my name there, crossed out at the bottom.
as i crossed the country the highways spilled out before me like sumi ink on rice paper. i imagined him dipping my brush in the ink, soaking it to full, letting the black drops fall across my chest, my throat, my stomach, creating highways along my skin. i imagined him laying me on a table, eyes covered, feeling the brush slide along my ankle, my calf, my inner thighs. along my hips, inside my wrists and elbows, over the curves of my collarbones. i imagined him standing over me, taking photographs of me like that, creating his own personal cartography of my body, marking his landmarks and naming them as his own.
i wrote this on a piece of paper and set it on the counter of the restroom at the gas station in holt, california.
you can find my name there, crossed out at the bottom.
[Edited on Jan 09, 2003]