I was letting her know she could inject my blood..

I was letting her know she could inject my blood sometime. Taking a
hypodermic and letting it in my arm. Pulling the plunger back. And
putting it down in her blood. I don't know if I was serious but I
suppose I would allow it. I wouldn't argue. But I don't think my offer
was serious. She laughed but was considering; I could see that, and
said she would sometime and I expelled laughter;
we couldn't believe what we had put into words, tho it made perfect
sense for us. That might've been a Sunday. Sundays are an inexplicable
sort.
Sundays really are.
What would shooting up another's blood amount to?
It would not be forgotten.
It might be nice.
Would it be best on a Sunday? No the most appropriate would be a
Monday. That was probably a Monday, really.
But all the same the seventh day is a strange one.
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"If I take another person's virginity I'm going to kill myself" He had
said about the subject. Quiet. I turned the volume to a right and it
was louder. Pause.
"The act, or...?" She asked. She began to ask.
"The act, the idea, and the number." He spoke each slowly, emphasized,
but not too slowly. "It really makes me ill. I don't like that at all.
They're too clean for me."
I was reminded of something I had written. odd.
"You mean like they're too pure?" she.
"Nah, not pure, just too clean. I'm a very dirty person. I have
defiled my soul in terrible ways."
"And they are a constant reminder of that." I interjected, putting
things to smoke into a pipe.
"Exactly." he stated.
I knew what he meant. It was a bit of a Sunday and before that we were
out in the park, five of us, a flashlight, and were going thru an
expanse of open grassland, knowing there was a pond somewhere and I
thought I saw it I thought we were walking steadily towards and into it
and we did, but it was grass. And it happened again. We got lost just
long enough to engulf our shoes in moisture so feet became cold. We
found the car.
I remember I once read that a landslide within Zion National Park had
damned the Virgin River and formed a lake. I never fell in that
tho.
Mondays are equally as peculiar as Sundays. But on Sundays we
transcend thru events.
Feet tromp the side walk at one (am) on another Monday and it's not
that there is a lacking of complexity. We have seven days to find a
mindset and then there are seven more.

On Wednesday I was with a young girl. I wanted to touch her and see
her body, she was asking me to but I was cognizant that I couldn't. She
had put me between her legs and pulled me in towards her face, near so
she could speak to me, I had my arm behind her back and despite our
position I knew she wasn't willing with me so I spoke to her and it was
just lust anyway. I can't mature to a better emotion or feeling. oh
well. It faded as anything else would.
I never claimed to be worth knowing. And never on a Wednesday.
She was looking for me but I don't know why. I found two tens in the
mailbox that morning.
What would she want anyway?
I could give her some blood to shoot.
I never claimed to have a good idea. (she was teasing me
sometimes.)

Again a Monday led to a meeting and I met Levi Spotted Wolf. Spotted
Wolf was a good man, a man involved in sitting in the sun,
with grey eyes.
Grey eyes beneath a weathered textured face. The cops always got him
down but he tossed up his hands, and 'ces la vie' he would've said but
he didn't speak that. He shook my hand he said for being a decent man
myself,
for acknowledging his presence
for giving him 60 cents. He shook the tall one's hand. Levi Spotted
Wolf was going home to South Dakota but was here for two months on one
corner. They explained he was a drunk but I shrugged and thought a
drunk can have great thoughts like any sober man.
We wondered about the way we get ignored by all the city.
They didn't have a bit of proof he was a drunk; and tho it could've
been quite likely,
They did not need to taint my moment, my encounter.

Lakes came up at the dinner hour; how frightening,
murky
how we would never want to be in a Nebraska lake,
we, the tall one, she, and me. I offered blood to this girl a week
that had transpired and traversed away from most memory.
Lakes. I thought perhaps my father always felt the remainder of a
sadness for his brother, drowned inside the water,
Minnesota, when he was 12.
I found a Christmas card from their Catholic youth and he was there,
his image. I found it in my Grandmother's home. I knew it the exact
moment she was dead, November 24th 2000, 3am. The phone rang and in the
basement I sighed and said goodbye. That was a Thursday I think. But
other Thursdays existed just fine.
I can never live another Friday right or well since the day I didn't
go to my uncle's funeral.
I can never understand a day and its math.
How could Sunday ever be Sunday since the day I thought they'd
disappeared and I was starting over, in a muted place. a sky black but
molasses thick.
A graveled walkway I ground my bones against. I did not want to be what
I was and maybe if I ground it out of the marrow I could rid myself of
what had been wrong. I bled on my face and my hands and tore into my
teeth but it did,
eventually
amount to nothing but a Sunday.
How could we commemorate a death on Friday with cocaine?
I will be no pleasure demon.
He rejected what he had done but I don't know if a Tuesday in July
will ever be just that.
I can not reject what is my life. We can not reject the past.
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