08-31-2013, 02:00 AM
Rectify is Hard to Handle
Amantha Holden is hard to handle.
The way she takes off her boots
and wades through the shallow end of the lake,
holding her short dress high with one hand.
She reminds me of someone I used to know.
Sitting on a rock by the water
and pulling your hand
down then up her inner thigh,
like someone I used to know.
And how good she is to her brother
...after his Hell sentence of twenty years,
locked up for a rape and murder
that I don't believe in:
Why would such a gentle and lonely man
need to rape or want to kill
the only girl that ever loved him?...
Outside the family, of course.
Much like the kindness my own sister shows
toward me; and friends;
and friends' sisters.
...But what does it matter?
No one gets their life back.
...Or do they?
What happens, happens.
All that's left is what you can salvage of the good time;
the good times.
The way they come and go,
always the same.
The good times.
Floating by
...like the lost seasons
of an ingrown mind.
The weight of the trees,
the knuckles of the branches
that gnarled the hedges
that gnarled the hair
climbing down the lower abdomen.
The hand that reaches, then stops;
buckling a belt into the throat of the cell.
...Leaving you there.
...Almost alone.
The seasons really gone,
with them the magic feelings of fall
...when the veil is thin;
With them the revitalizing power of spring
...when the roots are large;
Despite every thought: it all only happened once.
Again and again, back,
waiting for time to turn back on itself;
to the fire that burns in the bright light
of the cell.
Back to back,
...ingrown, dammed up flow,
dammed up lake, dammed up feelings that go
...with thoughts, with feelings,
with feelings that go with feelings,
over and over.
Sunrays through a thin, light brown
lace of a summer dress.
Or the look on a woman's face
when she's pulling her panties up
after a piss.
Sitting, standing,
smoking, walking,
laying down.
Up and down. Walking, standing, sitting, laying.
Imagining all those years, having someone to walk with down that hill,
...obsessing about walking with someone down that hill;
Finding her, and happily waiting to walk down that hill
...with her,
obsessing about having her to walk with down that hill;
And when she left, struggling to win her back,
...obsessing about having someone to walk with down that hill,
...about having her to walk with down that hill;
...about having never walked with her down that hill;
Now, gone forever,
never to have her to walk with down that hill,
never having had anyone to walk with down that hill,
never having had her to walk with down that hill,
or other hills, you've obsessed about, and continue to obsess about
...in a similar, brutal way,
all those years, and this year, and every year,
...all the years of your life.
A narrative of love burned,
scorched in an eternal life in death;
crucified on the one-sided cross of his sex.
There will be others.
Though despite what they say,
some days that are gone are more special than others.
Like a man that's never had anything,
but wanted
EVERYTHING,
once.
Better he forgets.
But Amantha Holden is hard to handle,
...just the way she stands and sits
and walks around.
I wondered what the actress that plays her was like,
and if that Southern belle appeal and accent was
really something real.
I looked into it, and found
she really is from the South.
But she's from Florida;
and like all the women I know,
she's married.
Amantha Holden is hard to handle.
The way she takes off her boots
and wades through the shallow end of the lake,
holding her short dress high with one hand.
She reminds me of someone I used to know.
Sitting on a rock by the water
and pulling your hand
down then up her inner thigh,
like someone I used to know.
And how good she is to her brother
...after his Hell sentence of twenty years,
locked up for a rape and murder
that I don't believe in:
Why would such a gentle and lonely man
need to rape or want to kill
the only girl that ever loved him?...
Outside the family, of course.
Much like the kindness my own sister shows
toward me; and friends;
and friends' sisters.
...But what does it matter?
No one gets their life back.
...Or do they?
What happens, happens.
All that's left is what you can salvage of the good time;
the good times.
The way they come and go,
always the same.
The good times.
Floating by
...like the lost seasons
of an ingrown mind.
The weight of the trees,
the knuckles of the branches
that gnarled the hedges
that gnarled the hair
climbing down the lower abdomen.
The hand that reaches, then stops;
buckling a belt into the throat of the cell.
...Leaving you there.
...Almost alone.
The seasons really gone,
with them the magic feelings of fall
...when the veil is thin;
With them the revitalizing power of spring
...when the roots are large;
Despite every thought: it all only happened once.
Again and again, back,
waiting for time to turn back on itself;
to the fire that burns in the bright light
of the cell.
Back to back,
...ingrown, dammed up flow,
dammed up lake, dammed up feelings that go
...with thoughts, with feelings,
with feelings that go with feelings,
over and over.
Sunrays through a thin, light brown
lace of a summer dress.
Or the look on a woman's face
when she's pulling her panties up
after a piss.
Sitting, standing,
smoking, walking,
laying down.
Up and down. Walking, standing, sitting, laying.
Imagining all those years, having someone to walk with down that hill,
...obsessing about walking with someone down that hill;
Finding her, and happily waiting to walk down that hill
...with her,
obsessing about having her to walk with down that hill;
And when she left, struggling to win her back,
...obsessing about having someone to walk with down that hill,
...about having her to walk with down that hill;
...about having never walked with her down that hill;
Now, gone forever,
never to have her to walk with down that hill,
never having had anyone to walk with down that hill,
never having had her to walk with down that hill,
or other hills, you've obsessed about, and continue to obsess about
...in a similar, brutal way,
all those years, and this year, and every year,
...all the years of your life.
A narrative of love burned,
scorched in an eternal life in death;
crucified on the one-sided cross of his sex.
There will be others.
Though despite what they say,
some days that are gone are more special than others.
Like a man that's never had anything,
but wanted
EVERYTHING,
once.
Better he forgets.
But Amantha Holden is hard to handle,
...just the way she stands and sits
and walks around.
I wondered what the actress that plays her was like,
and if that Southern belle appeal and accent was
really something real.
I looked into it, and found
she really is from the South.
But she's from Florida;
and like all the women I know,
she's married.
