Cocks On a Roost

_ _ _ _ showed up unannounced at the studio door after three days and a series of attempts at contact. I let her in after some protest, fucked her and sent her home with no promises. There’s nothing like rejection to get a woman excited. I thought, “I’m an asshole”, but at least I’m honest. She was extra wet between her legs and it felt relieving to be wanted and inside her. As this occurred I felt the flickering desire for my wife die down to a dark chilling ember and wondered how long it can hold even though I already knew the answer. Every woman must know this, that in the hearts of men our lovers haunt us and can linger for lifetimes. Cheaters, like bumblers, share a different plight but the haunting remains, a disease of the heart or mind or both. These truths are complex and I know them now like I know the lay of the land; essentially blind to the satellite view when traversing it except through plots to highest ground and clues from celestial bodies.

Full of myself and my triumphant cock I pranced around the following morning like a jubilant fawn. I thought, this was the breakthrough; this is what I needed; to know what I want, say what I mean and mean what I say. This was the final piece I was looking for, an end and a new beginning. I was the man again and this wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. Behave or be gone. My way goes. Confront it, anyone, with all the tricks and tools of my trade. Make it useful. Make it sing. Make love. Awaken to power and use it well and good and fierce as a bull and as graceful as a loon. All diplomatic unrest awash by the complete acceptance of poverty and the realized dream of godly love and earthly filth. Accept it all. Weep and be let down and live broken and better in triumphant accord. Like a child. With resolve.

When I returned home from work that evening, after hitching a ride across town from a friend who, by all indications, only tolerated the favor, I found the studio door shut and the key non functional. I knew but didn’t want to believe it for a moment. My studio lock had been changed due to back rent owed. I wrestled with it for awhile and realized this was indeed the case; locked out of my home and workspace through brazen arrogance and ingenious stupidity. From the neighbor’s studio, I made the necessary calls, paid the bill to the best of my abilities and looked forward to some days of rationing and further humility. Some cock; with no coop to roost. I noticed the rails were busy with cars filled with scrap metal as I spoke with Sterz about the boy and recent choices that left him alienated from his family. He’s an artist, what else is new. The boy started school recently and the series of social tests and integrations have begun. They’re gonna need help and friendship and conversation and celebration and discipline and love. I would too. We spoke for a few hours until the burly locksmith and the kindly superintendant showed up. The repo man couldn’t look me in the eye as I bore into him with kindness and acceptance. I understand duty and work and hold no ill but I can’t respect a man who doesn’t lock a stare while speaking or acting his role. I exchanged a check for passage and rested easy that night in meek brutishness watching the full moon rise to the east through the camera’s electronic viewfinder. I looked around at what was left of my stuff and realized I could let it all go, I didn’t need any of it, not the old negatives or the laptop or the cameras or the clothing or books or bike or any of it. As a celebration I searched online for some decent porn, couples who appeared to be in love with no violence and minimal anal, jerked off and fell into a deep and restful sleep.