‘Sucking on Emptiness’

In our ice house. God, it’s gorgeous here as you watch space enter you, take you now in its embrace--let everything slide. Is that you--fill up with white--How everything--irreversible you’ve heard--a distant world fills up with white.

The eerie glow of the snow. White moves in no particular order. And in the light, you, gloating. Such lips. Sucking on emptiness. Until the lips and tongue are numb, until . . .

Yes, in the pleasure gardens, a beautiful music mindlessly she still slips a pearl from time to time into her dreamy mouth.

And she clutches her icy writing tablets. Her hand abstracting--every word you make dissolves now. In our ice house whispering scarcely, scarcely. You are driving into last late white--your Escape Club, it’s lovely, n’est-ce pas?

And the blue tablet, once black, slips away, slides from you, sans souci. You’re no match for it.

One hardly remembers such snow. Such silence.

A full feeling--a fulled up feeling. The white lit way. Your cloudy, luminous eyes, your cup of moon spilled night.

And she shakes her snow globe and puts it on the mantel. And she smiles wreathed in freezing fog. How soft now the edges are. How like smoke the trees have become.

And you love what is far. And you love what is far why not? And the snow with its induction into sleep. I know . . .

And you are hip high in snow. White world. I know you’re hurting. I know a lot of things.

Her bleak atmospherics. and the remoteness calls her: lover, beauty. And the remoteness whispers wrap yourself around me. Give it up. And she retreats easily and she gives in easily. It comes naturally now. Licking the last flakes off the pane.

They say: follow your star.

Ming, is that you? Her gray cat. And doesn’t it look exactly like snow has fallen on his furry paws? They say . . .

She fingers her books: slim, bleak, appreciated by only a few. The white paper dissolving now--every word you write--in a kind of tearing and oblivion.

And she slips into the white of herself--into the white--her life snowing. A muffled, peaceful sound and she feels could it be? slightly aroused by the white, by the taking away finally of everything as she falls into some infinite. Voice 3 said something about pearls once. And the little girls danced all night--remember? Until their shoes were thin.