::11:06:07::

:: Out of Her :::

[On the seventh of December
was the last of love's angels damned]

"Get out of her,"
Spoke the prophet

"And stay out of me,"
Added the city
When meat cakes fell from the saddles
At her dried and futile gates.

Nazi widow crazy in Peruvian jungle seems nice to the 8-year old girl who doesn't think Eve sounds like a German name
Her war criminal husband couldn't survive outside the Berlin cauldron succumbing to ancient fevers and ritual curse
And I wonder if I could survive outside this cursed city to which I returned to find another kind of city beneath
Now I am squished between both cities neither city is real.

"If you want to make me happy,
Hang up the phone
And never call me again."

Such a lovely greeting to the New Year
Inscribed on a scrap of torn wallpaper
By a woman who wished neither to care for nor be cared for
By any creature outside her immediate family

I tried getting out of her but the mountain wouldn't let me pass
So I traveled by river, one foot smashed in traffic,
The other smashed with my father in a bar.
One hand smashed inside a womb
The other by a guitar.

I tried getting out of her by bus and wound up living in the bus stop hotel.
I tried getting out of her by train and was blown back into her
By cold shudders of bronchial ruin.

 In Gringolandia
We are all cursed
By the lost songs
Of the drunken ancestors
Who walk in shadows
Of our miserable inheritance.

We cannot get out
Of Gringolandia
Without doing the same thing
That got us here
In the first place

I would flee to those jungles where the Nazi widow ran crazy after her war criminal husband perished were it not that I too would
 end feverish in a crocodile swamp.

I wish we were still making love in that bed that you burned two years ago
Because two years ago
My mother and sister were still alive.

Written by: ~ Bill White