invitation and coyness: a story

SETTING:
It is true that in me I have some primal urge that is stronger than my sense to explain. I am an animal with fierce jealousies and callous thoughts.
A mouth bitter from spitting out what makes my guts boil.

A tongue, numb.

ACTION:
My rustic maneuvers
executed bluntly
via undisciplined limbs
are stroking the ego to
(finally) be in the place
where I can
confidently defeat myself again.
CUT-

(ZOOM IN)
dangling precariously like a rough man with an unhealthy appetite for danger, I search desperately to dilute myself, like the dead sea, with its love of salt.

No one can be tough enough themselves, nevermind each other. So I give up like the prisoner of the tragic art, making fine mourning-clothes for the refusal I invited before you show up.

Aside: No one ever mentioned the control you have over me. I swear I haven't even hinted at it.

DIALOGUE:
"Thank you" I say to the hollow air, and of course it takes my word.

DENOUEMENT:
Still, I am in the corner, sizing up my approach -to be just a bit faster.

I am looking just past the mark of time, but not yet seeing or recognizing what will be the coming dawn. I am not awakened from the collective dream which forms a haze in every individual perception. I cannot describe it, nor what passes invisibly through my shaken imagination, though I've seen its face.

REBIRTH