@@@@@ I don't ever want to talk to you again, I
@@@@@
I don't ever want to talk to you again, I don't
want to see you again, and I'd rather poke out my
eyes than ever have to look at another picture of
yoursYou should have died when that crane hit
you There was an awful thoughtfulness in her
voice"That would have been a happy ending
There was a moment of silence, then once more the
hum of an open lineI considered throwing the
whole works across the room and against the wall,
but the Edgar floating over my head said noThe
910
Edgar floating over my head said that would
perhaps give Perse too much pleasureSo I hung it
up gently instead, and then for a minute I just
stood there swaying on my feet, alive while my
nineteen-year-old daughter was dead, not shot
after all but drowned in her own bathtub by a mad
art critic
Then, slowly, I walked back out through the doorThere seemed no reason to lock it
nowThere was a broom meant for sweeping sand off
the walk leaning against the side of the houseI
looked at it and my right arm began to itchI
lifted my right hand and held it in front of my
eyesIt wasn't there, but when I opened it and
closed it, I could feel it flexI could also feel
a couple of long nails biting into my palmThe
others felt short and raggedThey must have
broken offSomewhere - perhaps on the carpet
upstairs in Little Pink - were a couple of ghost
fingernails
"Go away," I told it"I don't want you anymore,
go away and be deadLike the arm to which it
had once been attached, the hand itched and
throbbed and ached and refused to leave me
"Then go find my daughter," I said, and the tears
began to flow"Bring her back, why don't you?
Bring her to meI'll paint anything you want,
just bring her to meI was just a one-armed man with a phantom
i