the future is prostitute

susan smith nash


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It was the result of having about 10 cups of coffee in one day.  How does one deal with it?  The best way is to sweat, fast, sweat, fast, then forget about the body’s exigencies.


As much as I desire that, it is an impossibility.


The bottle of wine is on the table.  It is elegant.  It is finished with panache and history.  The travelers along the Great Silk Road refreshed themselves with cups of wine.  The caravanserai carried silk, spices, jewels, rare woods, and secrets.


What are the secrets?


You know. 


You will not tell me.


Your secrets lie deep within your heart somewhere on the same level as your hidden obsessions, your twisted strategems, your seductive silences. your hand slowly stroking mine.


I hate it.  I love it.  Where does the lord of rivers go when droughts speak madness into veins, rivulets, tributaries, fate?  Jean Baudrillard would call this obscene.  I call it sweetness and light.


Too bad it’s gone.


I leaned toward you in the sweet darkness of the restored caravanserai where we were having dinner with politicians and interpreters.  Azerbaijan is a velvet night dotted with stars and mystery.  You were radiant with darkness and unexpressed thought.  I was wet like the knife used to slit the throat of the lamb they will serve at my sister’s wedding. 


The salt of an inland sea is sharp and stained by oil.  Fires burst from the earth, inextinguishable.  You said I would learn something if I traveled to this land of miracles.  You were right.


And now you live a mile from your own salty, dark shores.  You and your dog walk there; all waters conjoining, past with future-present.  Loss is never far from your mind.


I will never be perfect.  Rely on fire if you need something that has had the impurities burned from it, or if you simply need your life to be harsh, pure, and narrow.  Count on me if you want a warm tangle of contradictory salt, sea-foam, and kelp washed up onto the sand.  Count on me if you want someone to look into the skies and tell you how clouds invert themselves like salmon, or cause-and-effect.  Or if you want to know how love can be sad, happy, irrational, and finally about letting the regrets slip down into the earth’s daily ablutions it calls “tide” or simply acceptance.


Ankle-deep, the salt-foam tickles my legs.  Later, it will itch.  I will call it “ambition” because that’s easier to deal with than love.