CHAIR – 2
A broken
closet stuffed with clocks and sound. I miss cabs that aren’t called Mom. It’s
between what we share and what’s between us. I walk up the hill to get some
better beer and look at my arms, hanging by my side in the shadow of the sun
behind me, and think I am an ape and
can’t escape that fact. The idea of modern discovery is a type and a
return. Watering plants is what family does, I say to myself, pouring out the
contents of the plastic bottle into green and pink and green.
Is this a statement or a question: what
time is it
I have a
friend I like to see but she’s blind and so she cannot see me and so I feel bad
when I see her and I don’t like feeling bad so I don’t see her that often
anymore.
Arrangements,
like picking berries and wine and dinner and cobbler and talk.
And I miss
sadness, but only sometimes.
I had
gotten so used to the street light, I thought it was the moon.
Hey ya, ho
ya, I wanna hole ya. Only I don’t. I only wanna hold you and tell you it feels
nice to hold me too.
The act of
isolation is that you’re left alone with yourself, and therefore, not alone.
When faced
with death, the only question to answer is “what’s for dinner?”
Yes is the
punch line that punches you in the face.
After all
this, acceptance comes quickly the dirty work besotted already by people who
tell me I am courageous business, like life business is like businessing your
life. We take our slants and tanks to mean anything they might want to imply.
We counter that with a stern smile and sturdy hold of the fork.
To tool
one’s spaghetti on a spoon in the proper way, shows who’s who at the table, Italian
or otherwise.
The bright
moonlight frightens me, like a face in my hand. Violate him, I say to myself, while cuddling and watching the news
we already read about in the morning. Misreading is still reading, so that’s a
plus. The primary way to express interest in expression is to pause and wipe
that image from our brains and fuck the water cooler with a cucumber.
(But only
in the summertime.)
The mass of
the night soul – still violated by an ex-wife somewhere near the tire store.
What the
fuck I’m saying is