An old dilapidated two bedroom house, Tennessee, the turn of several stages, Father drinking Heaven Hills whiskey, 2003, I wrapped my body and slept underneath Peanuts sheets, trying to dream of that Bela Lugosi face that would haunt me five years forward. I couldn't yet grow hair on my jawline but it grew in bushes between my knees. I heard 110 pounds of girl marathon herself up my moaning, creaky stairs, lit candles burning out in the lving room spilling wax onto the hardwood. She pushed my door open softly and touched my hair. She slid the sheets down below my knees and laid in bed with me. "Who are you?" I asked. "I'm Mary. They call me the Virgin. I'm stuck in a time-warp." Her hair smelled of salt-water and her skin felt like the sand dunes. Her beauty was intact after 6,000 years of brimstone shit. She started to kiss me. "Have I done good, Mary?" "You've done well enough, boy. I traveled a long ways and have no idea where I am. I just want a touch. The touch I've never felt, delivered by a rugged man. I had a child but retained my body, I was told." I kissed her back and slid her ancient undergarments off her legs - They almost crumpled at my immediate touch. I undressed her of her ancient robes and threw her desert sandles by the closet. She ran her fingers down the crotch of my jeans, her pinky tickling it. With what can best be described as finesse she wished my jeans off of me and grabbed it with her hand, forcing me inside her. I pushed and pushed and pushed and she cried like a chorus of Purgatory babies thinking "What the fuck?" and I almost stopped. But she grabbed my backside and forced me closer to her. I came between her mess and she disapeared. From April to May, alone for several weeks, sick of Fall leaves and Mesoaic speak, she told me about the heartbeat flickering insider her Dust Bowl uterus. I picked her up at the bridge that she temporarily slept under until she found a way back to her time period with my trouble. The place was located in a shopping center between a Hibbet Sports and L.A. Tan. I wrapped her head in a wrap so no one could see those piercing eyes that had graced across waffles, brick walls, pavement, cloud formations, trees bent into strange positions and other breakfast foods. She was placed on a mechanical chair with beige plush padding and lights were shined in her face. "This won't be painful at all, honey," the doctor said. I slowly crept towards the door, with my tail proudly between my legs and she called for me - "Please hold my hand." "I'll be right back, I promise." "Please hold my hand!" "Mary, I just need a drink of water." "Please don't leave me!" I walked out the door and ran down the hallway, avoiding stares by pregnant teenagers, knocked up prison birds, middle-aged women with destroyed wombs, and I sped out of the parking lot into absolutely nothing. Years and years between stages of tears I replaced Peanuts sheets with white striped bed trimmings, left the homestead towards city blocks and shot my brain into fuck. Four wheels and white shoebox steel that doesn't get me very far. A girl I cried over until I started implanting salt into my ducts to keep the flow. I've never learned. I've never learned. I walk around with smiles, frowns, eyes and a tongue like I've deserved some form of pardoned stretch of sun, to rub my skin against decadent fun, But my stupid parents raised a stupid son.
