sun shadows inked in sight
blink jump the dots appear
seared my eye through the glass and lens
click black click back
float off to edge.
sick.
my mother is sick
and so am i
for whatever she is
i am too
my mother is sick
she slaps herself
i watch her violent palm
hit her face
again and again
she knocks her head
her eyes shut tight
her tears escape
she screams a little
and slaps too hard
and i hear the red blood
swelling up in her face
her throat is stuffed closed
is forced open again
is constricted
is deconstructed
her hair is a mess
comes unclipped
is shaken loose
then knotted and tangled
twice a week
she strangles herself
i watch her do it
and sometimes
i even help
my mother get sick
i blow some words
to push her fists
she's made me
she makes me
feel her sick
so that one day
maybe today
i'll make myself sick.
and so am i
for whatever she is
i am too
my mother is sick
she slaps herself
i watch her violent palm
hit her face
again and again
she knocks her head
her eyes shut tight
her tears escape
she screams a little
and slaps too hard
and i hear the red blood
swelling up in her face
her throat is stuffed closed
is forced open again
is constricted
is deconstructed
her hair is a mess
comes unclipped
is shaken loose
then knotted and tangled
twice a week
she strangles herself
i watch her do it
and sometimes
i even help
my mother get sick
i blow some words
to push her fists
she's made me
she makes me
feel her sick
so that one day
maybe today
i'll make myself sick.
plans.
what i want to ask is
when you plan your life
do you plan the last day of your life
do you write down in that little precious notebook
of ideas
what color your bed sheets will be
when you cough out your last
and
who will be there to witness your exit
in that comfort planned?
will it be
a saturday
conveniently so
so they could read your name in church
the very next day
so people can hear their own memories of you
slide by for a few moments
so you can watch
in your soulful form
who are the ones who cry for you?
and if you had children
what will they say
in front of your grave
or will they be there at all
since they never forgot the date
their mother ran away
with another man
that bit
among others
you had not planned.
when you plan your life
do you plan the last day of your life
do you write down in that little precious notebook
of ideas
what color your bed sheets will be
when you cough out your last
and
who will be there to witness your exit
in that comfort planned?
will it be
a saturday
conveniently so
so they could read your name in church
the very next day
so people can hear their own memories of you
slide by for a few moments
so you can watch
in your soulful form
who are the ones who cry for you?
and if you had children
what will they say
in front of your grave
or will they be there at all
since they never forgot the date
their mother ran away
with another man
that bit
among others
you had not planned.
only want.
only want fresh air
only want to breathe when i am suffocated
only want to move
only want to be free when i am trapped
only want
only want what i cannot have
only want what i do not need
only want what i think i need
only want
only want when i cannot be satisfied
want
every moment
want
any which thing
want
any person
want to go
because i cannot go.
want to know
what is keeping me?
only want to breathe when i am suffocated
only want to move
only want to be free when i am trapped
only want
only want what i cannot have
only want what i do not need
only want what i think i need
only want
only want when i cannot be satisfied
want
every moment
want
any which thing
want
any person
want to go
because i cannot go.
want to know
what is keeping me?
like cold months
with cool breezes
late nights or
early morning
like the windows
opened wide
puffs of dark air
rolling in
like lips parted
breathing still
feel the O2
running through
like the one hand
on my mind
walking twirling
through my hair
like soft feathers
on dreamcatchers
downy filters
in my lair
like your shadow
on my waist
like your shoulder
by my ear
like quiet laughs
after hours
like sweetheart
unreality.
with cool breezes
late nights or
early morning
like the windows
opened wide
puffs of dark air
rolling in
like lips parted
breathing still
feel the O2
running through
like dim lamps lighted
on my desk
like the stars
on my wall
like the one hand
on my mind
walking twirling
through my hair
like soft feathers
on dreamcatchers
downy filters
in my lair
like your shadow
on my waist
like your shoulder
by my ear
like quiet laughs
after hours
like sweetheart
unreality.
i suppose
PRELUDE.
i suppose
it hurts
to know i will never
be as perfect as you
though it might be nice to know
you are not perfect too.
I.
on these days,
when i have too much work to do
i look at you
and step
from warm admiring sand
into envious waters
lapping up
hungry waves
II.
my eyes
up and down
your spine
and its visibility
under the light
through the window
III.
on your delicate bed
next to you i want to
IV.
carry your body away
to the land of starvation
filled with desire to have
and to own
my mind drips
with souring saliva
my throat has never
felt this dry before
never so suffocated before
at the sight of you
and the invisible things
in your skin
that make it
perfectly whole
bones
never looked so in love
with flesh
with life
and you think no one wants
to kiss
your curves more than light
who loves you too much
even when it rains
the drops prisms of rainbow
across your chest
across the length of your leg.
V.
though i have never wanted
to break and be broken
i do now
so very bad
VI.
my mind
never so smooth as you
will beat you
at that swimming race
any day
but
i will never feel quite
atoned
for the private things
i say to myself
over the morning bowls of
cereal with milk
eaten at night
with criminal heart
for the time that i kill
breaking myself
to forget the deaths i had caused
in myself through you
VII.
i know you
must not be perfect
but i am lied to
by what i see
by your being in your body
so happily
VIII.
singing and dancing
farther and farther away
from this thing that i am in:
i live because i keep it alive
though some days
i'd rather dissipate.
IX.
you can help me
my dearest friend
for i am your victim
as much as you are mine
trapped by land mines
we risk it all the time
from morning to night
as we breathe
we die.
X.
if there be one or many
storms until peace.
i suppose
it hurts
to know i will never
be as perfect as you
though it might be nice to know
you are not perfect too.
I.
on these days,
when i have too much work to do
i look at you
and step
from warm admiring sand
into envious waters
lapping up
hungry waves
II.
my eyes
up and down
your spine
and its visibility
under the light
through the window
III.
on your delicate bed
next to you i want to
IV.
carry your body away
to the land of starvation
filled with desire to have
and to own
my mind drips
with souring saliva
my throat has never
felt this dry before
never so suffocated before
at the sight of you
and the invisible things
in your skin
that make it
perfectly whole
bones
never looked so in love
with flesh
with life
and you think no one wants
to kiss
your curves more than light
who loves you too much
even when it rains
the drops prisms of rainbow
across your chest
across the length of your leg.
V.
though i have never wanted
to break and be broken
i do now
so very bad
VI.
my mind
never so smooth as you
will beat you
at that swimming race
any day
but
i will never feel quite
atoned
for the private things
i say to myself
over the morning bowls of
cereal with milk
eaten at night
with criminal heart
for the time that i kill
breaking myself
to forget the deaths i had caused
in myself through you
VII.
i know you
must not be perfect
but i am lied to
by what i see
by your being in your body
so happily
VIII.
singing and dancing
farther and farther away
from this thing that i am in:
i live because i keep it alive
though some days
i'd rather dissipate.
IX.
you can help me
my dearest friend
for i am your victim
as much as you are mine
trapped by land mines
we risk it all the time
from morning to night
as we breathe
we die.
X.
i suppose
it matters notif there be one or many
storms until peace.
sustenance.
thought you were some
romantic poet
walking out there with a midnight step
no coat on
just a shirt
the top button undone
thought you liked the cold
thought you enjoyed its numb affects
thought you liked the way your body felt dead
your hair almost as careless as your shoulders
slightly caved in
it was cold outside
just thirty degrees
the midnight figure
i thought was walking home
was walking only for the moment
for sustenance
life and satisfying cravings
things you don't need
but would like.
romantic poet
walking out there with a midnight step
no coat on
just a shirt
the top button undone
thought you liked the cold
thought you enjoyed its numb affects
thought you liked the way your body felt dead
your hair almost as careless as your shoulders
slightly caved in
it was cold outside
just thirty degrees
the midnight figure
i thought was walking home
was walking only for the moment
for sustenance
life and satisfying cravings
things you don't need
but would like.
holding.
i see you too
sometimes
in the morning when our eyes are still blurry from the night before
when
with one foot on the floor
and the other striving for balance
our whole bodies seem to want to just fall down
split apart from our centers
as if lacking weight in the middle
where our esophagus runs down
the in and the out that passes through
has disappeared
and without a line to hold us in place
our whole bodies seem to want to just fall down
so sometimes
i catch you in those moments
and with a certain change in your face
i see you
try to
pull yourself back together
but i think it's beautiful
to watch you as you fall
apart
i am
willing to
fall beneath you
whatever your weight
as your body comes down
i feel the water pull together again
sliding across the cold surface that keeps us
in our form of flesh that holds us
whole
despite a few missing
pieces
yes
i think it's quite nice
to stay just this way
fallen
apart
our flesh holding.
sometimes
in the morning when our eyes are still blurry from the night before
when
with one foot on the floor
and the other striving for balance
our whole bodies seem to want to just fall down
split apart from our centers
as if lacking weight in the middle
where our esophagus runs down
the in and the out that passes through
has disappeared
and without a line to hold us in place
our whole bodies seem to want to just fall down
so sometimes
i catch you in those moments
and with a certain change in your face
i see you
try to
pull yourself back together
but i think it's beautiful
to watch you as you fall
apart
i am
willing to
fall beneath you
whatever your weight
as your body comes down
i feel the water pull together again
sliding across the cold surface that keeps us
in our form of flesh that holds us
whole
despite a few missing
pieces
yes
i think it's quite nice
to stay just this way
fallen
apart
our flesh holding.
calls to broken fast.
1.
crumbs swallowed my throat
saliva crying with guilt
tonight
another promise
submitted to self-determined fate
2.
and we don't know if it was because
the weight was too heavy underwater
or the lighted fool popped too far into the sky
to fight
3.
mismatching notes of a funeral march
made us all cry
our hearts drummed extra beats
for the ones who passed away
quiet
4.
the remembered will be the forgotten
the now and forever never
the words that were sucked dry by hunger
enjoyed their pride in their short highs of life
disappeared in the moment
5.
i promise you were born to die
and the second death
will be better than the first.
crumbs swallowed my throat
saliva crying with guilt
tonight
another promise
submitted to self-determined fate
2.
and we don't know if it was because
the weight was too heavy underwater
or the lighted fool popped too far into the sky
to fight
3.
mismatching notes of a funeral march
made us all cry
our hearts drummed extra beats
for the ones who passed away
quiet
4.
the remembered will be the forgotten
the now and forever never
the words that were sucked dry by hunger
enjoyed their pride in their short highs of life
disappeared in the moment
5.
when zero turned one
and one more
well i never recall these things anywayi promise you were born to die
and the second death
will be better than the first.
heater life, in two parts.
blood loss in my fingers and toes tell me
(me)
(me)
winter has come to settle in the middle of the night
(night)
(night)
when the heat has been turned off by
(why)
(why)
unknown shadows peopled by the silent cars driving by
(bye)
(bye)
outside my window near the howls that bluntly blow their breaths—i
(i)
before morning arrives at my door
before morning arrives at my door
(or)
light that comes a little too soon
(soon)
sleep that arrives a little too late
(late)
(late)
numbed without hope the constant hollowing of inside skin
(sin)
(sin)
i hear the heater and burst within.
(clink clink, clang clang)
dress fabric heated by the radiator churning warmth too hot to touch
i move away and feel the cold climb back on my body
starting on my thighs waves of burnish cooling
hardening my skin to brave the december wind
it might be nice to just feel perfect warmth homogenized for once
though without me there is the cold and heat
constantly divorced
refusing to speak when one
or the other
is in the same room.
they come and go,
without a word,
come and go
without a kiss.
i move away and feel the cold climb back on my body
starting on my thighs waves of burnish cooling
hardening my skin to brave the december wind
it might be nice to just feel perfect warmth homogenized for once
though without me there is the cold and heat
constantly divorced
refusing to speak when one
or the other
is in the same room.
they come and go,
without a word,
come and go
without a kiss.
the big grand mall.
would you cry with me
when mother loses us
at the big grand mall
on a sunny day
as people run about
in their familiar bent circles
like the puppies in the park
playing catch the ball
playing chase the squirrel
mourn with me would you
hold me as i shake my anxiety
on to your body
i am alone in your warmth
i am alone in your body
no longer there
in the absence of mother
we embrace
one within the other
i
the child you forgot
in yourself
i
welcome you back
just as you are lost.
when mother loses us
at the big grand mall
on a sunny day
as people run about
in their familiar bent circles
like the puppies in the park
playing catch the ball
playing chase the squirrel
mourn with me would you
hold me as i shake my anxiety
on to your body
i am alone in your warmth
i am alone in your body
no longer there
in the absence of mother
we embrace
one within the other
i
the child you forgot
in yourself
i
welcome you back
just as you are lost.
ways.
i curve my letters the way prostitutes curve their smiles
drunkenly or high
but desperate inside
to get something tonight
more highs ignite more lows
leading the customer by the hand they say
johnny, i'll love you tonight
for a price
and he turns to look at their faces
worn down with inked lines of something ugly
he weighs the soft roughness of their hands in his
with some disgust
but with more lust
he mimics their faces of atonement to the world
afterwards
signed with pity and sundry love and hate,
johnny parted ways.
drunkenly or high
but desperate inside
to get something tonight
more highs ignite more lows
leading the customer by the hand they say
johnny, i'll love you tonight
for a price
and he turns to look at their faces
worn down with inked lines of something ugly
he weighs the soft roughness of their hands in his
with some disgust
but with more lust
he mimics their faces of atonement to the world
afterwards
signed with pity and sundry love and hate,
johnny parted ways.
thanksgiving.
i looked outside my window and it was almost undarkened
with a light bulb reflection floating there
beyond smudged glass panes who glance back at my world
with myopia they who set the border between in and out
of myself there is nothing out there
in this room flooded by three buzzing bulbs of brightness
cold and peeling plastic floor tiles jolt me
awake when i walk across at three and seven
in the night and morning
it took me a while to notice that
of myself there is nothing in here.
outside it grew lighter
until it was lighter
than this room.
with a light bulb reflection floating there
beyond smudged glass panes who glance back at my world
with myopia they who set the border between in and out
of myself there is nothing out there
in this room flooded by three buzzing bulbs of brightness
cold and peeling plastic floor tiles jolt me
awake when i walk across at three and seven
in the night and morning
it took me a while to notice that
of myself there is nothing in here.
outside it grew lighter
until it was lighter
than this room.
talking in a strange room
in a strange group of men and boys
i find myself at ease though
i am scared
bullies and violence do not
only come in the shape of bold unfeelings
in the disguise of school, gangs,
hands and guns
i served up my punch and intimidation
in words
and fed the poison to him;
already, i saw he was weak despite his size
his face covered by a sky blue mask
i saw only his eyes,
big round things that looked almost always
dampened with something deep inside
i asked him
"how do you know you chose your future?"
i said
"how do you know you chose your life?"
and he, so distraught at the sound of those words,
at once began to crumple himself into a ball of paper,
his certainty folded and creased,
his own sharp edges cut paper cuts into his skin
in pain, he looked at me
then looked away
he had no idea what to do now
confronted by the worst bully he'd ever seen
in me, in my words.
i pushed him one more time:
"how do you know you chose to be this way?"
and he fell away from us
somehow
pushing through the reflection glass
he leaped high into the night air
and suddenly
he was two:
one female, one male,
one full-bodied verging on fat,
one so skinny i knew he would never make it
at first, they floated
on the water by the boats,
so peacefully they rested hand in hand,
at ease on the bobbing surface
then
they disappeared
half sunken into the down below
half magically into the unknown
i stood in silence
until i awoke
then grabbed my computer
and typed this out.
in a strange group of men and boys
i find myself at ease though
i am scared
bullies and violence do not
only come in the shape of bold unfeelings
in the disguise of school, gangs,
hands and guns
i served up my punch and intimidation
in words
and fed the poison to him;
already, i saw he was weak despite his size
his face covered by a sky blue mask
i saw only his eyes,
big round things that looked almost always
dampened with something deep inside
i asked him
"how do you know you chose your future?"
i said
"how do you know you chose your life?"
and he, so distraught at the sound of those words,
at once began to crumple himself into a ball of paper,
his certainty folded and creased,
his own sharp edges cut paper cuts into his skin
in pain, he looked at me
then looked away
he had no idea what to do now
confronted by the worst bully he'd ever seen
in me, in my words.
i pushed him one more time:
"how do you know you chose to be this way?"
and he fell away from us
somehow
pushing through the reflection glass
he leaped high into the night air
and suddenly
he was two:
one female, one male,
one full-bodied verging on fat,
one so skinny i knew he would never make it
at first, they floated
on the water by the boats,
so peacefully they rested hand in hand,
at ease on the bobbing surface
then
they disappeared
half sunken into the down below
half magically into the unknown
i stood in silence
until i awoke
then grabbed my computer
and typed this out.
infection/forced recovery.
let it grow
back
i have no choice
my ear is
a fucking mess
throbbing
with the pulses
of my life beat
oozing
discharged in
white shit
yellow shit
dumb shit like this
i get myself into
i get myself out
i paid in pain
paid full in time
i keep paying for myself.
back
i have no choice
my ear is
a fucking mess
throbbing
with the pulses
of my life beat
oozing
discharged in
white shit
yellow shit
dumb shit like this
i get myself into
i get myself out
i paid in pain
paid full in time
i keep paying for myself.
this is no dark room.
lady,
i will bother you no more:
from your face
i let my gaze go,
from your shoulder
i let my hand slip
from today,
i will not be the rescuer:
the savior who bears until
everything drops,
the one who gives softness
while taking blind slaps
in the dark,
you will find yourself:
do not despair for fear
for your being,
let your feet fall
where they may
in the moments of uncertainty,
you will decide:
how to take the needles
you step into,
how to master one's reactions
against such unfair game
you alone,
and alone you will be:
be your savior
as you rescue yourself,
by opening your eyes
you will see:
this is no dark room.
lady,
lift your misleading lids:
you need no looking glass,
only time to adjust;
you need no help
beyond yourself
but lady,
be aware:
there are some things
you will not ever see;
eyes wide open
still cannot perceive
though here,
you are not alone:
we are all blind
in the end;
yet we try still
to leave this room.
i will bother you no more:
from your face
i let my gaze go,
from your shoulder
i let my hand slip
from today,
i will not be the rescuer:
the savior who bears until
everything drops,
the one who gives softness
while taking blind slaps
in the dark,
you will find yourself:
do not despair for fear
for your being,
let your feet fall
where they may
in the moments of uncertainty,
you will decide:
how to take the needles
you step into,
how to master one's reactions
against such unfair game
you alone,
and alone you will be:
be your savior
as you rescue yourself,
by opening your eyes
you will see:
this is no dark room.
lady,
lift your misleading lids:
you need no looking glass,
only time to adjust;
you need no help
beyond yourself
but lady,
be aware:
there are some things
you will not ever see;
eyes wide open
still cannot perceive
though here,
you are not alone:
we are all blind
in the end;
yet we try still
to leave this room.
storm season.
i shit showers of slow pain
rain that digs up buried dirt
soaked in yesterday's blood
sinking in sinks
without boundaries
the overflow of quandaries
and i am wondering about
little things like
this
when you wrap a scarf around my neck
call it rescue
call it warmth
it shelters me not from
the flood that comes
when you leave
no clothes can cover me
i am the blood beyond
flowing at your touch and absence
i am the storm season
no one foresaw
i am the pain
surrounded by pleasure
i am what you
made me out to be
yet
born alone
i will die alone
counting from one to zero
i go from little
to none at all.
rain that digs up buried dirt
soaked in yesterday's blood
sinking in sinks
without boundaries
the overflow of quandaries
and i am wondering about
little things like
this
when you wrap a scarf around my neck
call it rescue
call it warmth
it shelters me not from
the flood that comes
when you leave
no clothes can cover me
i am the blood beyond
flowing at your touch and absence
i am the storm season
no one foresaw
i am the pain
surrounded by pleasure
i am what you
made me out to be
yet
strangled
by the pulls of your scarf
i drown
born alone
i will die alone
counting from one to zero
i go from little
to none at all.
details.
a shawl to cover my goosebumps
my chickenskin
to cover my face red
with your slap
i mean
i mean
not anything
at all
sometimes
it feels good
to stand alone
to know
i can
stand alone:
but tell me you are
coming soon.
can you slow down? let me hear what you are saying.
say, can you slow down?
can you slow down
so i can hear
what you are saying
so i can understand
what you are saying
so we can communicate
so we can talk
so we can laugh about it and admit our mistakes
and think things through
so we can
hold hands
and smile
and kiss with our lips each other's soft parts
so we can comfort and hold
in times of fear
so we can love
so we can like
so we can accept our selves
and embrace what we can
so we can breathe without anger
so we can breathe without fear
so we can live so
we can live
happily
so we can say
life is good
so we can say
life is worth living
say life is worth living
say life is worth dying for
say can you slow down?
say, can you slow down?
can you slow down
so i can hear
what you are saying
so i can understand
what you are saying
so we can communicate
so we can talk
so we can laugh about it and admit our mistakes
and think things through
so we can
hold hands
and smile
and kiss with our lips each other's soft parts
so we can comfort and hold
in times of fear
so we can love
so we can like
so we can accept our selves
and embrace what we can
so we can breathe without anger
so we can breathe without fear
so we can live so
we can live
happily
so we can say
life is good
so we can say
life is worth living
say life is worth living
say life is worth dying for
say can you slow down?
i read the toenails on your feet
i read the scars on your knees
i read your forehead wrinkles
the eyes that never twinkled
i read your palm
the unclear lines
i read the sweat
on your neck
i read your lips
the open, the close,
the muted sound--
i read
the blanks in the room.
i read it all
your mind unmoved
i tried
but did not understand.
i read the scars on your knees
i read your forehead wrinkles
the eyes that never twinkled
i read your palm
the unclear lines
i read the sweat
on your neck
i read your lips
the open, the close,
the muted sound--
i read
the blanks in the room.
i read it all
your mind unmoved
i tried
but did not understand.
weekend abstract.
friday--
i crushed my toe
trying to draw out the dying drawer
when i pulled
i pulled too hard
and it fell out
on my left toe.
saturday--
chatter in the next room
friends that aren't mine
talk
friend that might be mine
came
and left.
sunday--
hoping to land safely
gains faithful certainty
lies die
and truths arrive.
i crushed my toe
trying to draw out the dying drawer
when i pulled
i pulled too hard
and it fell out
on my left toe.
saturday--
chatter in the next room
friends that aren't mine
talk
friend that might be mine
came
and left.
sunday--
hoping to land safely
gains faithful certainty
lies die
and truths arrive.
sunday thoughts.
i will
let you go
because you will go
you will go
because you have gone
you have gone.
let you go
because you will go
you will go
because you have gone
you have gone.
say what?
so i say stuff
and you say
no, that's not
how it goes
so i shut up
and stare
into your face
as blank as mine.
and you say
no, that's not
how it goes
so i shut up
and stare
into your face
as blank as mine.
on the beach.
you dipped your finger in my sand,
watched the grains fall off your skin:
in the multitude of what appeared to be
simply only
more of the same
you saw the ones glinting in the sun
and missed those that were invisible,
you shook off your left with right,
shaking loose points to which i clung:
my sand fell,
but i am sure you can tell
you have not rid you of all of me.
watched the grains fall off your skin:
in the multitude of what appeared to be
simply only
more of the same
you saw the ones glinting in the sun
and missed those that were invisible,
you shook off your left with right,
shaking loose points to which i clung:
my sand fell,
but i am sure you can tell
you have not rid you of all of me.
ask.
i would like you to ask me,
first,
is this okay?
before your hands settle on
my shoulders
my hair
the parts of me that aren't open
to air
perhaps
if you knew me
you'd also know that i hate your touch
because
after all
we are not that close
we are not even what i'd consider
friends
so when you smile
i will smile back
simply because society says
this is what we do
this is what you do
and when you wave or glance and nod
i will reciprocate
because
this is what i do
this is what we do
maybe i like you
maybe i don't
and maybe i hate you,
you might never know
but if you happen to be around me
and your hand falls on me
and i shift slightly out of bounds
or say, do not touch
then please, do not touch me
because
i would like you to ask me,
first,
is this okay?
first,
is this okay?
before your hands settle on
my shoulders
my hair
the parts of me that aren't open
to air
perhaps
if you knew me
you'd also know that i hate your touch
because
after all
we are not that close
we are not even what i'd consider
friends
so when you smile
i will smile back
simply because society says
this is what we do
this is what you do
and when you wave or glance and nod
i will reciprocate
because
this is what i do
this is what we do
maybe i like you
maybe i don't
and maybe i hate you,
you might never know
but if you happen to be around me
and your hand falls on me
and i shift slightly out of bounds
or say, do not touch
then please, do not touch me
because
i would like you to ask me,
first,
is this okay?
disconnect.
and so the rock is worn down by water
down by the place of suspension
of hidden remorse
once living, is now hardened
that hardened, is now unstable
constantly leaving
rippled.
down by the place of suspension
where rock had no feeling
now, no longer rock, it goes in
unseen
with the water warbling around
down by the place of suspension
everything goes.
the rock lost weight
and in morsels
lost itself.
down by the place of suspension
of hidden remorse
once living, is now hardened
that hardened, is now unstable
constantly leaving
rippled.
down by the place of suspension
where rock had no feeling
now, no longer rock, it goes in
unseen
with the water warbling around
down by the place of suspension
everything goes.
the rock lost weight
and in morsels
lost itself.
rain forced him inside.
and he killed the music
he fingers attacking the keys
too rushed
like a fire spreading over the room
the sounds of two melodies
now deceased
suffocated together in a forced clash
burned alive--
satisfied with his work,
he stood up and left,
combing through his wet hair
as he walked down the hall.
he fingers attacking the keys
too rushed
like a fire spreading over the room
the sounds of two melodies
now deceased
suffocated together in a forced clash
burned alive--
satisfied with his work,
he stood up and left,
combing through his wet hair
as he walked down the hall.
feels like.
feels like pulling a ribbon from inside your throat
feels like i-can't-i-don't-but-
feels like the same story with a different ending
feels like cold sweat tingling your spine
feels like your silhouette walking across the grass
feels like the moment when body falls from bed
feels like stones skipping on water
feels like wishing for one more
feels like push
feels like pull
feels like swaying together before sun wakes up
feels like screaming and echoing lost
feels like a trap too strong
feels like you can't win
feels like i don't care
feels like whiskey shots
feels like slipping
feels like grass stains immune to bleach
feels like shouldn't have
feels like too late
feels like the flu, bronchitis, sprained ankle combined
feels like rain
feels like i-can't-i-don't-but-
feels like the same story with a different ending
feels like cold sweat tingling your spine
feels like your silhouette walking across the grass
feels like the moment when body falls from bed
feels like stones skipping on water
feels like wishing for one more
feels like push
feels like pull
feels like swaying together before sun wakes up
feels like screaming and echoing lost
feels like a trap too strong
feels like you can't win
feels like i don't care
feels like whiskey shots
feels like slipping
feels like grass stains immune to bleach
feels like shouldn't have
feels like too late
feels like the flu, bronchitis, sprained ankle combined
feels like rain
"souffle"
he positioned me across two chairs
as if my body was a bridge:
one end the hips and up
one end the feet with their painted toes.
he left me there to stare
at the poster of A bout de souffle
in yellow, black and white:
her hands playing a game of sorts
that female smile spanning her face
pushing her cheeks in
apples of unseen blush;
and he, silent, smoking, small,
looking at her and her fingers
and face
as if that was all there was
in the world--
a bed with sheets
fateful femme of his past, present, and future
his hands clutching his stomach
as he lay flat
on the bed that contained,
for now,
the two of them.
a look of unsettling clues
to what will happen:
that her smile is too set,
that he is under
her mysterious play,
that his eyes are troubled with deciphering her face
and failing,
sucking on the cigarette whose smoke rises out of his sight
and grasping
he no longer can retain any of this:
upset me
as i lie here,
my hips-toe bridged on two chairs,
while the people outside the room looking through the glass pane
in the door
assume
that i just want to sleep.
as if my body was a bridge:
one end the hips and up
one end the feet with their painted toes.
he left me there to stare
at the poster of A bout de souffle
in yellow, black and white:
her hands playing a game of sorts
that female smile spanning her face
pushing her cheeks in
apples of unseen blush;
and he, silent, smoking, small,
looking at her and her fingers
and face
as if that was all there was
in the world--
a bed with sheets
fateful femme of his past, present, and future
his hands clutching his stomach
as he lay flat
on the bed that contained,
for now,
the two of them.
a look of unsettling clues
to what will happen:
that her smile is too set,
that he is under
her mysterious play,
that his eyes are troubled with deciphering her face
and failing,
sucking on the cigarette whose smoke rises out of his sight
and grasping
he no longer can retain any of this:
upset me
as i lie here,
my hips-toe bridged on two chairs,
while the people outside the room looking through the glass pane
in the door
assume
that i just want to sleep.
just another one.
i was taking a shower when he walked past and stopped to say hello.
as he was talking, his hands reached out. i interpreted that as him needing water.
so i directed my water towards his hands and hoped that was enough.
when i got dressed--and it felt like a different day--we sat with our backs to the wall and talked.
or he talked with the pretense of answering my questions of insecurities, only to tell me things that made me look away. i wasn't interested. and it bothered me that he didn't care enough to see that i wasn't paying attention to stop talking.
it's good that it was a dream.
because he's a professor. and he walked in on me when i was taking a shower. in the hallway.
what a weird house. (it had cameras linked up to other rooms.)
earlier, an hour earlier, i had another dream, where, as i was sitting with a friend on an indoor wooden bench running along the wall, i showed him something that involved looking at an object through a lens of sorts. then his arm crept around my neck and shoulders and said, "this is a good way to hit on someone."
i smiled as he was smiling already, and sat there, looking straight ahead after my gaze turned away from him.
i sat there, on that wooden bench along the wall, and felt so comfortable. so warm. protected. secure.
it brought back memories when i trusted myself to be that close to someone else, when i felt that warmth.
except this time, it was warmer, knowing that he wasn't that serious, and neither was i.
conclusion?
i really like sitting against walls.
as he was talking, his hands reached out. i interpreted that as him needing water.
so i directed my water towards his hands and hoped that was enough.
when i got dressed--and it felt like a different day--we sat with our backs to the wall and talked.
or he talked with the pretense of answering my questions of insecurities, only to tell me things that made me look away. i wasn't interested. and it bothered me that he didn't care enough to see that i wasn't paying attention to stop talking.
it's good that it was a dream.
because he's a professor. and he walked in on me when i was taking a shower. in the hallway.
what a weird house. (it had cameras linked up to other rooms.)
earlier, an hour earlier, i had another dream, where, as i was sitting with a friend on an indoor wooden bench running along the wall, i showed him something that involved looking at an object through a lens of sorts. then his arm crept around my neck and shoulders and said, "this is a good way to hit on someone."
i smiled as he was smiling already, and sat there, looking straight ahead after my gaze turned away from him.
i sat there, on that wooden bench along the wall, and felt so comfortable. so warm. protected. secure.
it brought back memories when i trusted myself to be that close to someone else, when i felt that warmth.
except this time, it was warmer, knowing that he wasn't that serious, and neither was i.
conclusion?
i really like sitting against walls.
introduction.
you have never met me
so you ask lots and lots of questions
hoping that i would
by a little gesture here
or a little word there
let slip my personality and roots
i observe you, stranger:
your eyes, jumping every few seconds
around my face and occasionally
to my painted mismatching nails
and occasionally to my scissored hair
and occasionally to my love handles,
my thighs, hidden, calves, exposed,
occasionally to my heart-cut watch
ticking away without a battery
...
then
you settle on my eyes:
i see all your questions
still holed up inside
those unsteady eyes,
trying their best
to be something they're not.
so you ask lots and lots of questions
hoping that i would
by a little gesture here
or a little word there
let slip my personality and roots
i observe you, stranger:
your eyes, jumping every few seconds
around my face and occasionally
to my painted mismatching nails
and occasionally to my scissored hair
and occasionally to my love handles,
my thighs, hidden, calves, exposed,
occasionally to my heart-cut watch
ticking away without a battery
...
then
you settle on my eyes:
i see all your questions
still holed up inside
those unsteady eyes,
trying their best
to be something they're not.
trip.
i want to grow big
so you will not lose me
like you lost that slip of paper
and your key
and your favorite pen in blue
in that room
that was new to you
in that paid-for hotel
with the little bottles of
shampoo and conditioner combos
and complimentary mints
in a city you were in
for one day
just one day and in the night
you left
leaving all those things behind
the way you left me.
so you will not lose me
like you lost that slip of paper
and your key
and your favorite pen in blue
in that room
that was new to you
in that paid-for hotel
with the little bottles of
shampoo and conditioner combos
and complimentary mints
in a city you were in
for one day
just one day and in the night
you left
leaving all those things behind
the way you left me.
morning.
the nose has sunk into the face
fact: there is no less time now than there was before
though she lost the last nine seconds to reading words that are empty of meaning (as all things are)
fact: she still has as much time as she had before losing her seconds
that is to say
fact: she does not own time
does time own her?
fact: there is no less time now than there was before
though she lost the last nine seconds to reading words that are empty of meaning (as all things are)
fact: she still has as much time as she had before losing her seconds
that is to say
fact: she does not own time
does time own her?
sentenced.
your head cannot stand the weight of hats,
prisoned with felted lines of nobility
you do not deserve
nothing goes your way
so you make your way and pave
the grass with stolen cement
you charge a tollbooth,
smile with a gold tooth.
i want none of your smooth.
you skilled artist of hard paints:
how might you fool the next soft fool
who comes close with her heart lodged still in throat?
you have no shame as your colors show,
you have no tricks of the trade--
you are the tricks of the trade.
prisoned with felted lines of nobility
you do not deserve
nothing goes your way
so you make your way and pave
the grass with stolen cement
you charge a tollbooth,
smile with a gold tooth.
i want none of your smooth.
you skilled artist of hard paints:
how might you fool the next soft fool
who comes close with her heart lodged still in throat?
when the wind blows,
you know it's time to go
before your skin bares all to the world.
you have no shame as your colors show,
you have no tricks of the trade--
you are the tricks of the trade.
(you bach.)
you look like a man
who could kill someone and get away with it
after all, you had
everything
you had no need
for someone else's everything
and who would believe that with so much
Enlightenment
you could be so
dark?
you are the master of particles
of light and good vibes
yet you love a man
who so freely fathered and lost
his children unknown and dead
worst of all, abandoned
and you say you love this man
and the words that filled his mind?
chains,
i see them all.
who could kill someone and get away with it
after all, you had
everything
you had no need
for someone else's everything
and who would believe that with so much
Enlightenment
you could be so
dark?
you are the master of particles
of light and good vibes
yet you love a man
who so freely fathered and lost
his children unknown and dead
worst of all, abandoned
and you say you love this man
and the words that filled his mind?
chains,
i see them all.
stayed.
tambourine and tangerines and the oils on your fingers
smeared across my camera screen
careening cars outside screech
hearts start
chest opened by the unbuttoned shirt
unbuttoned by chipped fingernails, the dirt beneath, the germs
always find their way to me
tender skin and waiting skin and broken skin
openings close
closings die
dying for a first time
living for a second
seconds in a broken encounter of skins refusing to stay
dropped in a broken glass, shattered in place
after swearing, after starting, after all
broken we stayed
we stayed in place.
smeared across my camera screen
careening cars outside screech
hearts start
chest opened by the unbuttoned shirt
unbuttoned by chipped fingernails, the dirt beneath, the germs
always find their way to me
tender skin and waiting skin and broken skin
openings close
closings die
dying for a first time
living for a second
seconds in a broken encounter of skins refusing to stay
dropped in a broken glass, shattered in place
after swearing, after starting, after all
broken we stayed
we stayed in place.
shuttling back.
at night,
on tuesday,
when we had a couple of minutes to say
how it is that you--that i--
slipped the mind?
there were some creatures
giving light
on the grass that was wet
with natural sweat
that smelled just like
wet grass,
unsmoked and pure,
strong in its just-born life,
green though unseen.
since it was dark,
we walked that way--
not together, though
not apart--
i remembered to say goodbye,
and it ended there
on the young grass,
lit,
but still quite dark.
on tuesday,
when we had a couple of minutes to say
how it is that you--that i--
slipped the mind?
there were some creatures
giving light
on the grass that was wet
with natural sweat
that smelled just like
wet grass,
unsmoked and pure,
strong in its just-born life,
green though unseen.
since it was dark,
we walked that way--
not together, though
not apart--
i remembered to say goodbye,
and it ended there
on the young grass,
lit,
but still quite dark.
dinner.
each burn burned into my forearm
seems to say
this is past
you cannot touch me with the same fire and sear
the ways of learned mistakes and accidents
that cannot be erased unless
you think against the fire and convinced
emerge healed
with new skin and new hair
different but fine
as a temporary coat
to prevent the boiling water from steaming your index
and the activated oil from touching your face
as if they could ever change you from who you were
you know who you are
for now
and you know where you are
right now
among friends around the dinner table with napkins at hand
and forks and knives at a safe distance
and spoons reflecting all that you have made for yourself
you, in your seat, looking at the gauze and bandage stuck on your forearm,
hope it is all good to taste.
seems to say
this is past
you cannot touch me with the same fire and sear
the ways of learned mistakes and accidents
that cannot be erased unless
you think against the fire and convinced
emerge healed
with new skin and new hair
different but fine
as a temporary coat
to prevent the boiling water from steaming your index
and the activated oil from touching your face
as if they could ever change you from who you were
you know who you are
for now
and you know where you are
right now
among friends around the dinner table with napkins at hand
and forks and knives at a safe distance
and spoons reflecting all that you have made for yourself
you, in your seat, looking at the gauze and bandage stuck on your forearm,
hope it is all good to taste.
nothing.
lusty eyes that tell you nothing fall on the hole in your shirt
so you step into the circle of silence that roams over your head
to protect you from her glare
those lusty eyes that tell you nothing fall on the nothing on your wrist
but you do not care for time
for time tells you nothing
time passes in the morning when you are asleep
and time leaves all men without a farewell in the night
you are protected from nothing that she dangles from her mouth
the lips that are colored a passionless red part
and nothing falls out
and you do not care for nothing.
so you step into the circle of silence that roams over your head
to protect you from her glare
those lusty eyes that tell you nothing fall on the nothing on your wrist
but you do not care for time
for time tells you nothing
time passes in the morning when you are asleep
and time leaves all men without a farewell in the night
you are protected from nothing that she dangles from her mouth
the lips that are colored a passionless red part
and nothing falls out
and you do not care for nothing.
look.
i look at your eyes
though they look not on me
hardly seen in black and white
some light emerges
on your face
and what a face
with all its lines
in handsome places--
the marks that scatter
so deliberately flatter
and i, the viewer,
feel abandoned,
though it is nonsense:
for i looked upon you,
without your notice.
though they look not on me
hardly seen in black and white
some light emerges
on your face
and what a face
with all its lines
in handsome places--
the marks that scatter
so deliberately flatter
and i, the viewer,
feel abandoned,
though it is nonsense:
for i looked upon you,
without your notice.
how i feel.
prologue
why don't i tell you how i feel
and wait as you charge yourself
for a few moments
to yell
i.
why do you not see the things i see
i see them so plainly
and you do not
you are wrong
ii.
false prophets
were born on the same day
yet one was taken
by the people
iii.
to where shall we go
if you and i cannot walk together
when i lose my temper
when i cry for no reason
iv.
so, then, on that day
when the sun and moon
spoke to each other
did you wonder?
v.
generally speaking,
when our heads fall off
and our bodies collapse
we will have no more worries
epilogue.
if you won't say it,
i will, friend.
relatively speaking,
this is bullshit.
why don't i tell you how i feel
and wait as you charge yourself
for a few moments
to yell
i.
why do you not see the things i see
i see them so plainly
and you do not
you are wrong
ii.
false prophets
were born on the same day
yet one was taken
by the people
iii.
to where shall we go
if you and i cannot walk together
when i lose my temper
when i cry for no reason
iv.
so, then, on that day
when the sun and moon
spoke to each other
did you wonder?
v.
generally speaking,
when our heads fall off
and our bodies collapse
we will have no more worries
epilogue.
if you won't say it,
i will, friend.
relatively speaking,
this is bullshit.
crash.
do waves crash
do they collide
do they fight and struggle
for their space?
do leaves make war
provoked by wind
do they kick each other
to survive?
do winds punch
and push their ways
are they always
so awake?
and you and i
can we decide
just how much hate
we're willing to take?
can we let it
dissipate?
do they collide
do they fight and struggle
for their space?
do leaves make war
provoked by wind
do they kick each other
to survive?
do winds punch
and push their ways
are they always
so awake?
and you and i
can we decide
just how much hate
we're willing to take?
can we let it
dissipate?
tune.
soon
the chair moves by it
closer
dragging an awful tune along the floor
and the floor groans and screams
but do not think of its pain
as the chair steadily moves itself
watch it approach
horror that vaporized in the air
reaches for the nose that could not turn away
and inhale
and exhale
and inhale the tune
i tuned for you.
the chair moves by it
closer
dragging an awful tune along the floor
and the floor groans and screams
but do not think of its pain
as the chair steadily moves itself
watch it approach
horror that vaporized in the air
reaches for the nose that could not turn away
and inhale
and exhale
and inhale the tune
i tuned for you.
after dinner.
middle-aged dragonflies
zooming on the grass-tipped lane
having no answer to their questions
of where and why
flying on the third-world rot
they lose their breath
and bump into each other's wings
i walked among them
and lost all meaning
no direction from the air
i stood while others stared
i remembered why i stopped
and told myself i know nothing of you
i know nothing you don't know
i know nothing of middle-aged dragonflies.
zooming on the grass-tipped lane
having no answer to their questions
of where and why
flying on the third-world rot
they lose their breath
and bump into each other's wings
i walked among them
and lost all meaning
no direction from the air
i stood while others stared
i remembered why i stopped
and told myself i know nothing of you
i know nothing you don't know
i know nothing of middle-aged dragonflies.
offerings.
won't i please
your hand do take
in mine
and mine alone
through the broken sweets
i offered thee
at ten past three
past all the trees
i did take but one
along with me
to the carpet
of hall deedee
and there i sat
wondering still
what will i do
with your words
that did play and run
like children ought
like we forgot
through the omens
of future years
what will i do
with your words
that crushed the sweets
you did not see?
your hand do take
in mine
and mine alone
through the broken sweets
i offered thee
at ten past three
past all the trees
i did take but one
along with me
to the carpet
of hall deedee
and there i sat
wondering still
what will i do
with your words
that did play and run
like children ought
like we forgot
through the omens
of future years
what will i do
with your words
that crushed the sweets
you did not see?
summer heat.
well i
well i hesitate
while i
while i wait
i hesitate
his head's a cake
some summer heat
a melting wait
a melting bait
well ran dry
while i dry
these clothes tonight
the laundry goes and
while i wait
he hesitates
i take the bait
while he works his gait
well i
well i must not hesitate
i cannot wait
while he dries
my clothes tonight
my head's a cake
some summer heat.
well i hesitate
while i
while i wait
i hesitate
his head's a cake
some summer heat
a melting wait
a melting bait
well ran dry
while i dry
these clothes tonight
the laundry goes and
while i wait
he hesitates
i take the bait
while he works his gait
well i
well i must not hesitate
i cannot wait
while he dries
my clothes tonight
my head's a cake
some summer heat.
indentations.
ding the roofs
you dinged the car
i ding ding ding
answer the door!
dents on your skin
the razor accident
dented minds
demented binds
you in i out
quickly run
fold
and disappear
into your offended bones
i push you farther
you make the gaps
in the place i live
dented binds
demented minds
you dinged the car
and i dinged you.
you dinged the car
i ding ding ding
answer the door!
dents on your skin
the razor accident
dented minds
demented binds
you in i out
quickly run
fold
and disappear
into your offended bones
i push you farther
you make the gaps
in the place i live
dented binds
demented minds
you dinged the car
and i dinged you.
terminal.
go, proceed ahead
you may follow
you may lead
you may speak
plead guilty
you may stand
you may sit
you may now
kiss the bride
you may never
take this together
take with food
before bed
take daily
take twice
take two
take them all
before the fall
before the ache
before the moan
before the sigh
the sigh that sighs
before the echoes
of yes and no's
before the sadness
that dims the lights
before the footsteps
down the hall
before the walk
down the aisle
before you say i do
do you
think
do you
really?
want it all
go, proceed ahead.
you may follow
you may lead
you may speak
plead guilty
you may stand
you may sit
you may now
kiss the bride
you may never
take this together
take with food
before bed
take daily
take twice
take two
take them all
before the fall
before the ache
before the moan
before the sigh
the sigh that sighs
before the echoes
of yes and no's
before the sadness
that dims the lights
before the footsteps
down the hall
before the walk
down the aisle
before you say i do
do you
think
do you
really?
want it all
go, proceed ahead.
"Bob."
his eyes shaded a blur in black trimmed white
capped by red turned back
hair a brown short close
forehead rounded, nose sculpted
head turned and body forward
his legs carry triangles with the ground,
slightly crooked and bent
arms curved with weighted tears of effort
Bob
with his dead bart keychain and another hanging
moved on the street past the yellow, black, white
and Bob
turned to look at me, my machine.
capped by red turned back
hair a brown short close
forehead rounded, nose sculpted
head turned and body forward
his legs carry triangles with the ground,
slightly crooked and bent
arms curved with weighted tears of effort
Bob
with his dead bart keychain and another hanging
moved on the street past the yellow, black, white
and Bob
turned to look at me, my machine.
...
if you were smart,
you'd know,
you'd know,
if you were smart,
you'd know.
if you were mine,
i'd laugh,
i'd laugh,
if you were mine,
i'd laugh.
if you were far,
far,
far,
if you were far,
far...
you'd know,
you'd know,
if you were smart,
you'd know.
if you were mine,
i'd laugh,
i'd laugh,
if you were mine,
i'd laugh.
if you were far,
far,
far,
if you were far,
far...
OPEN, eyes, open.
i was in a school. for some project, or competition, or academic stupidity. or i might have been confined there for life. "life." i was a simulated game character. i aged in a couple of days, and was an old nana by the time the accident--no. it was planned. they planned to start a catastrophic fire or whatnot and turn a portion of the population of the students--residents--into zombies. i was among those who did not turn into zombies. we were told to go into reserved rooms. and stay there. and when we tried to escape, i was no longer an old nana. (my mom said that at this point the story had already changed.) but we were still in the same school. the same situation. we found the window-doors to outside, but the outside was surrounded by policemen and zombie-students and their parents, all enclosed by a high fence. we went back inside, hoping that the zombie-affiliates did not that notice us, but once back inside, a group of zombies pushed open our door and clawed and charged their way at us oh my God save us please even if i no longer truly fully believe in you save us save me. but the zombies didn't get us. we waited in silent surrender, having no idea what to do. i decided to call my mother, and told her rushedly, "ma, i love you. i'm in trouble. you'll probably read it in tomorrow's newspaper," and hung up. and for some reason, we began to file outside through the open half of the window-door because they were releasing us by pairs. R said that we have to go out in pairs, and he assigned the pairs, and i was assigned to him. and even though i heard him say the assignments, i never really heard him say mine and due to the stress-fear-anxiety, i went ahead and followed the couple before me. half way through the yard, i panicked when i realized that i was unpaired. looking back behind me, R was furiously catching up with me, muttering but daring not to attract attention to himself. we all just wanted to get out. i dropped back behind a few steps to level with him, but when i saw that the girl in front of me was partnerless after some people were freed, i--without thinking--paired myself up with her, and left R behind. his hand tried to pull me back, and sensing his anger triggered my guilt. why had i moved up so quickly--so automatically? i wanted to live. i was scared. i was just thinking, i need to get out of here, get out of here and in that moment, we were all freed. we started running running running until we were all almost gliding, our feet touching the ground only every now and then. we leaped, we covered distance, and we got out of there. while we ran-leaped-flew, i called my dad, but he was busy, so i called my mom, and my cousin picked up the phone and wanted to practice english with me. frustrated, still very tense and shell-shocked, i hung up and realized, i've left my backpack behind. i decided to just concentrate on running, when suddenly, R looked at me and said, "why are you running so fast and ahead of us?" so i slowed down a bit, and R made a quick gesture with his hands as if he were holding a carriage whip and speeded ahead. i overheard a female in another group close behind us as they said, "see, he's using them," and moved her chin towards us. still, we ran on. then i spotted a corner deli and that green globe signifying subways and maybe a bus sign or not; i shouted, "SUBWAY! SUBWAY! THAT WAY!" and we all shifted our direction. we ran down the stairs and filed in after orderly swiping our metrocards...since i had lost my wallet along with my backpack, i asked if R could swipe me in, and he complied quite nicely. which made me feel uneasy. but i got into turnstile gate and pushed, and found myself on the other side, sure with the feeling that i would get home soon.
but things would not be so easy. as we waited for the trains to come, i realized that there were only about four cars to a train, and that at least one car was always defective or dangerous--bombs, or other hazards. after watching three trains pass, and mass amounts of people migrate from one car to another, i was scared not knowing which step would be my last. just then, the lights dimmed and turned out, and a stranger reached at me and tried to hold on to a part that he grabbed at, but i turned around and saw J racing up the stairs. i guessed that she was trying to go to the other platform, and decided to follow her. not knowing why i saw the stairs seeing as to how all the lights were off, i questioned nothing and thought about almost nothing as i ran up the stairs as fast as possible behind J. as we reached the bridge-floor to the staircase leading the other floor, i felt myself float up and lose all pull of gravity. my body slammed on the yellow-black-striped and uneven ceiling, and tried to use the metal ridges to help myself move forward. i had the sense that someone else was behind me--perhaps R--but all i could do now was move faster. so i tried to, and i kept bumping and gliding along until i reached the stairs and swooshed down to the other platform. at this point, my eyes lost the track on J, and moved to a few scattered toy bunnies of different colors and position, left on of what seemed to be a salesman's blanket. each came with a foot massager. i picked up a bunny--can't remember its color or position with certainty now--and saw that a young man who was standing next to me also picked the same kind. he acknowledged that to me, and i responded with "yeah...i always thought they were the cutest." and as we felt the heated wind rush toward us, propelled by an incoming train, i saw him put the foot massager down on the table. after thinking about it (some of the few instances of mental processing in this dream), i decided that putting down the foot massager would be a rational choice, since it would be awkward and inconvenient to carry it on to the train. i put it down, hugged my bunny close, and stepped on the train, flooded by light.
i woke up.
"mom?"
thoughts.
still falling, still clueless about her life, she remembered the time when she thought about things she could do indoors on a cold, rainy day.
she could draw faces on chilled frosty windows and then...watch till they melted, till all the faces began to cry...
she could lie on her back a long, long time, and then...get all mixed up and think the floor was the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor...
in that moment, she began to think of life as a long, rainy day. there was no top; there was no bottom.
the end, for now.
if she could speak, she'd say:
"i'm lost."
"it's okay."
"let's see where this goes."
~suicide of a different sort, part 4.
never free.
when the moments came to her, she felt like stopping--pausing--freezing--
but like a helpless and damaged fledgling, she knew she could not clasp unto even the briefest illusions of being happy.
when falling, she would see something that grabbed her eyes, her fingertips, or her heart, and she would try to name it, call it, or grab it. her mouth would try to give sound to the frustration incurred within her due to the falling that would not stop its motion: the falling that would not decelerate and accommodate her desire to touch something, or to feel something touch her. further silent mourning grew as she replayed that moment on the hill, when the crumbling rocks finally crumbled, taking her foot and body with them...and before the crumbling rocks crumbled, the hill had sunk, had broken, had slid...and before that...the wind pushed, but she remembered now that even if the wind hadn't pushed so strongly, she was there, on the top of the hill, determined: to step forward, and off.
there came a time when, after she had fallen for a long time, the blurs began to transform into shapes before they moved out of her field of view. then, after another long time, the shapes began to elicit movements within her that she had forgotten existed. she saw things that were once familiar to her, and her mind began to long for them again. those shapes reminded her of flicks of happiness and dots of unhappiness and shades of normal. yet, if she allowed her mind to go there, where normal was being strapped down and dissected by shifting fingers and busy questions, these shapes would all disappear into a haziness that hid everything away.
then those everythings would pass along more quickly than ever before, and the blurs mashed into each other until they were just a dull, tranquilized darkened wall. she was still falling, but she no longer knew how fast she was going without the spaces between the blurs to tell her how much of that everything she's missed.
~suicide of a different sort, part 3.
magnifying glass.
i see the ants convulse
melting under the glass
magnifying sunlight,
seen by so many as great.
why i decided to kill
those poor ants
going about their day,
human condition cannot explain;
why we are all so silent about pain
in the dark ditches of our neighbors' land,
where the families of ants huddle and cry.
why my friend and i decided to kill
those poor ants going about their day:
complications made too plain.
when we grow our brains,
we watch them burst.
busy thoughts on busy streets,
of this medium town,
empty by night,
when there's nothing to do.
i cry too
though i don't feel their pain:
what a burden am i,
what a fake.
telephone.
"hang on," she said, unsure of what she meant by
"hang on" because she did not want to tell a lie
to say "i will return" was a guarantee
she was not ready to make, so
"hang on" silence on the other end
long distance communication was always hard
telephone calls never served them right
the coils that connected their ears
same circumference but different location
one after another
dependent on each other
the coils that connected their ears
always plural and bound together
no beginning or ending
they "hang on"
she took a walk around the room
looked at the dust on the windowsill
the wastewater dropping down from the neighbor's air conditioner
she paused
grabbed the muscle-fat layers on her neck
and pulled until it hurt a good hurt
looked at the telephone murmuring
still "hang on"
still unsure of what she meant
and continued the make-believe pause
because time waited impatiently and was beginning to walk
"hang on" (she spoke it with a sigh)
"hang on" traveled weakly through an exhaling breath
through the coils that connected their ears
through the long distance phone call placed on pause
"hang on" without its beginning or its end
was caught somewhere in rough transport
was never delivered
was simply "ha..." or "gon..."
was silence on the other end
not "i will return" because she will not return
because "hang on" meant she will try to return
but no promise there
(though it might be nice)
(though it might be false)
so
"hang on," she said.
hide/seek with God.
the way that God runs away from me
wary
i want to lift the skirt up and see
there is nothing there for me
i want to peek
at the image of virginity
why man wants to be
the great almighty
but never succeeds
why i
why i would love to live
as much as i would
why i would love to die
when the world erupts in acne
deposits of dirt and fat
covered in oily skin
and hot lava flows when i press
hot pressure hot pain
hot days of summer love and lust and dead bodies and
zombies of mine
hot blood flows and hot blood coagulates
strokes scheduled for yesterday, late
so late
in the evening the lifeguards leave
combing people off the beach
danger is near, or so they say
why i
why i would love to stay
so late
in the evening when the lifeguards leave.
this is what happens.
first i was trying to write a report on something weird when i took a trip to the place of action and became the main character. i was chased by some evil creature-witch-like-bitch who wanted my multi-million dollar inheritance. i narrowly escaped, with the money, or most of it...and transformed back into myself.
i returned and played with friends who decided to visit...went back to my room...and people surprised me.
with torture.
"you see, this is what happens when you possess what non-whites should not possess."
they took out scissors.
they got close to my body.
i felt like i realized this was a dream. but maybe not. but maybe so. i felt like i willed them to move the scissors to certain places when i realized that maybe i shouldn't have...
oh my God, please don't cut me.
squirm, i squirmed
pinned down by murderous
pretty white women
scream, i screamed
though i did not hear it
i hoped somebody else did
when
a man and fellow rescuers
freed me
and switched my position with that of the girl who held those scissors, switched the origin of the pleadings from me to her, and i felt like
someone who has just been
saved
in time
not too late
but almost
my wish came true.
there is a God.
money.
racism.
i need help.
i have nightmares when i go back to bed after waking up.
seaside.
lacking fire you
throw the wood into the furnace
you try to light the dark
you try to kiss the love
throw the hand on the breast
throbbing hearts you
toss the hair aside
toss the clothes aside
still as cold as evening sand
salt water rushing you
then hear the whistle of a congested nose
then hear the ruffle of a rushed start
so slow the heart moves you
just throw the wood
just throw the wood into the furnace.
the wall.
sometimes when i can't sleep,
i bang my head against the wall,
listen to the ache and ring
kill some brain cells along the way.
i guess it wouldn't hurt
if i put some music on
and listen to the lyrics of
a man and his guitar.
but i'd rather not.
you'd mistake me for an insomniac.
not to say i am not one,
but that i just don't know.
sometimes when i can't sleep,
i think about the words and
murmurs
of cars and strangers.
i listen to those sounds in silence
until the silence breaks.
i listen to those sounds in silence
until the silence breaks.
listen to those sounds ache,
ring against the wall,
a man murmurs,
his guitar breaks.
a short continuation.
for the first time, some time after she had begun to fall endlessly, she started to cry.
she wasn't sure why they came, since she had been almost certain she had accepted the domination of indifference and apathy. but the tears did come, slowly in line, jumping out of her wrinkled lines when they felt like it was the right time for letting go.
if i remember
if i remember correctly,
and i said in that rebellious ingrate way:
if i grew fat
that year, and the one before,
half my mind disappeared
in the chubby cheeks of a child
born by heaven, faith, love and truth
in a sudden, sweet, and forgotten death
seen by none,
heard by one,
felt high up
on the osteo
porosized limb
of a dearly rot
ting tree.
suppose the symbol of freedom from sin
came on that day of flying sparks of screaming light
in bright, bold colors meant for blinded sight,
when they told me not to worry for the poor choices
one could possibly make in life
said they in that wise old mannered way:
try this, try that,
taste the good and bad,
you'll find the best and worst,
you'll find happiness, you'll see.
and i said in that rebellious ingrate way:
and what if i try and taste
that poisonous mushroom
on my first day?
well, what then?
if i remember,
if i remember,
i was six?
when he first touched me,
our parents did not see.
i felt all funny, sprawled
on his back,
i don't remember
if i asked
for that piggy-back ride,
or if i asked for his fingers
to get so high
up, up on my thighs.
i moved myself
out of his hands,
but they found me,
again, not once,
but twice.
i don't know how i jumped
down from that height,
twisting my body,
from side to side,
until i made it
just that clear
that i did not like
two-legged pigs at all.
if i remember,
i was eight?
when she first touched me,
front and back.
at the restaurant,
there we sat,
i with her
on one side.
i do not recall
the food at all,
just the cold palm
under my shirt.
sliding slowly
up and down,
in small circles,
melting pentagons,
her fingers searched
small bits of me.
skin in goosebumps
prickled in fear:
i just sat there
in my chair,
my feet dangling in the air,
my feeling her ice
cold on me.
if i grew fat
over the years,
don't blame the hormones
or change in palate:
i just wanted some
distance
away from some
memories:
permanent grime inked
on my skin.
if i remember,
people blinked
too fast
too fast
when they first touched me:
they said they were looking
for someone named joie
who hailed
from this place named vivre
and it was always about
the moment,
right here,
right now.
and "carpe diem"
strangled the day.
dear me.
dear you,
i need someone who is happy. i need someone who is positive. i need someone who is optimistic. i guess what i'm trying to say is, i need someone who is not you. i'm sorry. it's not that i don't love you. i just don't know if i love you enough.
-me.
little girl unnamed.
when she was a child, long ago, she had pigtails in her hair. and though she never really liked them, she kept them there because her mother tied them up for her one last time before her mother died. i remember when i saw her, long ago, at her mother's funeral. she still had those pigtails, tied by her mother, in her messy hair. they were short little pigtails, since her hair had started to slip out of the rubber bands.
her mother never had much money. they had been vegetarians, though not by choice. in the summer, celery was the cheapest in the market, and in the winter, broccoli. each bunch of vegetables was always bound together with rubber bands, and that's why she had so many rubber bands around the house. she wore them like bracelets: rusty reds, fleshy peaches, dull purples and bruised greens, all bunched together at her tiny wrist.
her mother had always wanted her to leave her hair to grow to a nice girl's length, but she never wanted hair past her shoulders. she started to chop her own hair every now and then with a pair of scissors, surviving the accidental cuts with an indifferent face. her mother gave up dreams of being able to braid her hair like the most fashionable dolls' hairdo, but still found a light joy in tying those pigtails up.
she never played with us. we thought she either didn't like us, or really liked to stay home with her mother. we never saw her with anyone but her mother. we never saw her father. at that age, we didn't know how it all worked, so we just thought she didn't have a father. well, it turned out that she did have a father, and his name was Greg Furles.
i saw Mr. Furles at the funeral that day, and nobody knew who he was, not even his own daughter. it was a small funeral, maybe twenty or so folks, but Mr. Furle didn't sit anywhere near his daughter. she looked at her mother's body the entire time, until they lowered her into the ground. i saw that when they started shoveling the dirt in, one of her pigtail rubber bands fell off somewhere into the dirt. that was the only time i saw her gaze move. it had started raining then, and i couldn't tell if her eyes were getting teary, or just watery from the sky's tears.
anyway, we don't know what happened to her. we just know that her father took her away a day after the service, after throwing out what little furniture they had in that little apartment out by the curb. the day after she left, we saw her rubber band collection scattered on her mother's grave. well, i guess Mr. Furles made her throw them all away, too, and i guess she couldn't bear to do it, so she gave them to her mother to keep.
analyze this.
today, i finally got out of the house and walked. i stopped in front of a children's clothing store, and remembered that i had a job there. i went inside, greeted the owner of the boutique, and went about my work.
when i was finished with my shift, i wanted to go visit a pet store. i wanted to see puppies. i wanted to buy a dog. i walked until i saw a bunch of my acquaintances on the cement steps of a korean store, all taking care of their own dogs. they acknowledged my presence with "hi" or "hey" and "hello" as i sat down by them, looking at their various dogs. how cute. after telling them that i wanted to go to the pet store, they directed me in the opposite direction. i was close-- just needed to take a left up that street.
yes. now i remember. i've been there before. of course it's in the opposite direction. i've been walking down the wrong intersection.
then i woke up, went to the bathroom, checked my facebook, email, and the new york times, turned off my cellphone alarm and went back to sleep.
i was in the boutique again, except this time, it was like a rite aid or walgreens. i...wait. no, i went inside an isolated deli first. i bought a beer. i choose between a natty light and a bud light, and although i picked the bud light, i ended up walking out of the deli drinking the natty light. beer. but when i went to crush the can for my five cent deposit, i was holding a bud light can. i...asked to buy the cheapest umbrella? flirted with the cashier? she was a girl? i...wait.
i was in walgreens shopping with my mother. we bought snack foods, and i was looking at the longest time at a package of pretzels that was filled with a huge block of pretzel-product, stamped into pretzel shapes. i wanted to eat pretzels, but i didn't buy a bag. they weren't really pretzels. i walked with my mom down the bakery aisle and asked her if she wanted some danishes. she picked them, and though i wanted to pick some other ones, i didn't say anything. after we'd picked four, we began to walk to the checkout.
funny. normally, she'd let me pick. huh.
damn. i really wanted that chocolate one.
then i watched as my mom argued over the price of some things as the worker rang them up. we paid over ninety dollars. ninety dollars for snack foods? for some reason, i was lagging behind, and as mom exited the store, dad walked in. he wanted to return two things. one was an opened box of tissues with only 30 tissues left. they let him exchange it for an unopened pack of 30 tissues. the other was...can't remember.
i never got to the puppy store.
i did, however, go to a mobster's daughter's wedding. this wasn't my first time. i am almost sure that i went to her's last year. and she even asked me if i went to her wedding before as i rode in her car driven by a chauffeur, accompanied by two other unidentified males. yes, i went to your wedding before. last year, maybe? and the events that followed this car ride was almost identical to what had happened the last time i went to her wedding.
as we drove, she instructed the driver to come pick her up near the train, but only immediately after the passing of the train. she said she had to go to the bathroom. but i didn't understand why she was leaving, didn't understand what she'd just said about the train, didn't understand why i was in this car going to her wedding...again? i felt like i had to go to the bathroom too. as she left the car, i got out too. i tried to keep up with her, but it was raining. pouring, really. i lost her. so i kept running and came across a wooden restroom.
i'd been there before. maybe even more than once.
i went inside, pushing on the swing door that divided the entrance and the three stalls. i was about to go into the third stall when i realized that someone was inside that stall. i hate it when someone else is in a public bathroom. and i was in a rush.
where the hell is the train station? where the hell is the mobster's daughter?
i pushed on the swing door, wanting to get out of there, when i almost bumped into an overweight, half-naked middle aged white man who was trying to get in. i squeezed by, moving myself against the wall, trying not to touch him. i ran, stopped at a red light, and saw a train station situated right on the opposite street. i saw a van that stopped there, in the middle of the street i was about to cross, and instinctively knew i had to get in.
you forgot: i'd been through this before.
when the pedestrian light was a go, i ran to the van, and saw that it was packed with faces. hoping there was enough room for me, i pulled on the door and saw that there was ample room. i also saw the mobster's daughter. she was already in the van.
we drove away right as the train passed by. a second later, the train blew up. another member in the van began a soliloquy on something that i can't remember. excited and scared, i listened. when we got to the wedding destination, we all jumped out of the van. i began to walk towards the door to the ceremony location when i saw two men struggle with and anally rape two overweight, middle-aged hispanic women in bright colorful dresses.
nobody else seemed to notice. nobody seemed to want to help. i think i stood there, shocked that this would happen on the streets in broad daylight, right outside of a wedding place, committed by men i rode in a van with...
i...
i walked inside. with images of the two women crying, hugging each other in their shared miseries, i walked inside, looking at the people carrying on their festivities. i grabbed two long ribbons, as i did before, except this time, i took two different colors. red and white, instead of pink. i didn't know what they were for, but i knew from the last time that i had to take two.
and i think that's where it all ended for me.
man, won't you listen
air blowing
chimes ringing
the dog's barking
and God's observing
today seems quiet
bored and lonesome
filled with noise
you don't hear
children are begging
mothers denying
sweets and fun
their will to run
hula hoop's going
jump rope's fast
feet are moving
bodies breathing
man, won't you listen
won't you try
to understand this
afternoon noise?
mouths can speak
mouths can eat
mouths can kiss
but they have no minds
brains can think
brains can solve
brains can direct
but they lack a heart
fingers can point
fingers can pull
fingers can take
but they can break
have you a mind?
have you a heart?
have you anything
that i can't break?
don't touch it. it'll be okay.
my favorite fairy tale used to be hans christian andersen's "the little match girl." i remember having felt pity for the little freezing girl, envy for her sadly good behavior, jealousy for her ascension into heaven. i remember the winter night, the brief, imagined warmth.
i laid it out on the marble countertop after pushing away some dirty dishes and bottles, and took out a box of matches.
i struck a match and put it to the ring. i thought i saw it sweat, but whatever it was, it got licked away by the fire. i watched that match tip burn out, trailing smoke ribbons that grew upward toward the cabinets. i hoped that my smoke alarm wasn't too sensitive, and after looking up, i saw that its little light was no longer blinking. i struck another match. it burned out too.
they all burned out.
the ring's still sitting on the counter. i think it's fine. but i don't want to touch it, just in case i broke it.
today, suicide of a different sort.
when she climbed to the top of the hill, she looked down but couldn't see anything. her flapping scarf was trying to cling to her face as the wind breathed again. she had decided that today was a perfect day for suicide, like any other day. she just didn't have access to any other day.
even if the wind hadn't pushed so strongly and her scarf had not tried to choke and blind her, she would not have seen anything from the top of the hill. she had imagined this scene in her mind beforehand, and had promised herself that she would take that ultimate step to nowhere with no hesitation. not like she had a choice. the hill itself was sliding, breaking, and sinking.
"oh...i guess this is it."
she took a step, having lost her footing under the crumbling rocks.
and she fell.
and fell.
and fell.
and shortly after she thought she had stopped falling, she realized she was actually still falling, and probably would never stop falling. she looked at her passing surroundings with indifference now; she knew she would never stop moving to be able to look at things for longer than a moment. she would see blurs, not understand the blurs, and then, not care about the blurs.
"they are only blurs. nothing more."
~suicide of a different sort, part 1?
grown-up.
when i was in elementary school, i wanted to be a fashion designer. no, writer. no, airline stewardess. no, writer. artist?
when i was in high school, i wanted to be a teacher.
no. i don't want to be a teacher.
i cannot teach your children anything you'd want their little minds to know.
i can, however, babysit them and play with them like a human puppy-dog.
you'll just have to pay me and give me permission to raid your fridge several times during the day.
remember that part in the Bible that goes something like, ask and you shall receive, knock and you shall be answered? let me go track down the original verse. wait, i don't actually know the original verse because it was not written in english. all right, then. let's go with the king james version: Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. matthew 7:7.
now, i don't know exactly what Jesus meant when he said such things, but i do suspect that what he said did not really apply to my case. no matter though, i opened the door anyway. and multiple times. each time i heard that knock, i opened the damned door to doom. i suppose i could blame this all on society and environment and you @#$%ers who pressured me to be normal and standard and conformed to bland joy and ecstasy in glorious sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.
but i won't. i won't blame you, because why would i, when i should blame me? i deserve, above all others, the responsibility of turning on that rusty water faucet and lowering my naked less than desirable body into the mess of regretful lukewarmy goodness. my skin is touching the mold and mildew, melting into the water that is dirty enough not to be called water.
so, like i said, i have been soaking in a tub of disgust ever since last autumn. and though i know that many have bathed in their own filth in this rite of passage, i stare enviously the ones who have not been dunked into this tub. you know who they are. they laugh differently. their happiness has the quality of an imaginary fairy's wings. yet only you and i know these fairies to be imaginary now.
the innocents still believe in their fairies, because they still have their uncorrupted fairies. they see flowers and they think romantic chocolate kisses. we see flowers and...well. you know what you think about and i know what i think about, and i think that's detailed enough.
so i'm soaking here, and i look and what do i see?
i don't see anything.
that's the problem.
lovecrime scene.
love that flows like blood flows down her arms slit like fancy valentines.
(how can i make you move, love)
eyes that dried off on 60 tissues blank before the crier now.
poor girl. she should have known her prince had not yet arrived on scene
on time.
impatience does not wait not waste not want not be not now.
mine.
that child is mine
waking up in a lonely room
on a lonely second floor
the white morning without snow
running through the colorless stills
that child is mine
without a father who would stay
without a father who would say
love you, dear
love you with all of me
love you till the end of time
come away to my castle
and give me a child
that child is mine
with nothing but the colder morning
with too much air
slipping in through the spine and soles
that child is mine
the one without,
nothing at all.
midnight argument.
fucking angry voices down below
chewing on each other's souls
he sounds like someone had
cut him in the eye
while smashing
a smashed wine glass
into his right hand
the unbearable pain of having
then losing
his current one and only
one lustered pearl
that broke free
and broke his necklace
one piece that made him
his beauty broke him
wholly now.
pounding on their floorboards
the linoleum cracks
unable to carry
the stunning structure of
madness spilled
sent the chills up their neighbors
up their walls
the ceiling shook
and my feet felt
for a moment
salted madness
lapping up.
in the end.
in the end, this will mean something to you.
words across this screening page of pixels man-made,
written for your eyes and stranger eyes and unknown eyes,
written for your ears if you are blind,
please have a loved one read it to you.
in the end, this will be all that you can have of me.
this black against white, or near black against near white,
to be read or unread, to be marked or unmarked,
unvalued or invaluable or carelessly forgotten,
is yours.
i cannot carry it across the water or under land.
i cannot take it with me to somewhere in nowhere,
out of your existence or depth of field,
burned through the years you ceased to recall,
then exhaled by seasonal forgetting.
but here you can love it for a while,
or hate it for a while,
but just for a while.
you won't have it either,
after you breathe.
the way your laughs bounce off together
the walls of everything around you
in the parking lot at night
from my window
i hear your happiness echo
against the car hoods and tree bark
off each soldier of green summer grass
and the cement step that broke my skin last year
it travels from down two stories
against all these surfaces
to knock on my skinny windowpanes
with their broken shelter screen
my dreamcatcher is off duty tonight
and your echoes invite themselves in
though i have no means to afford this luxury
i cannot afford to be bothered tonight.
wake up.
today, in my dream, i pushed open another door.
i don't remember its color, or temperature, or weight.
when i pushed on it, it made no sound. no creaking, or wood cracking, or paint chipping.
i never got to step into the room closed off by the door. i didn't see any light coming from behind.
i thought i smelled a different scent of air, maybe softer and clearer. kind of like cherry cough drops.
but not quite.
it was sweet and medicated, and reminded me of a hallway in my first school.
a white hospital and mandatory immunization shots.
the bathroom on the first floor of my second school.
sleep.
maybe i never smelled this before. those memories don't seem to go together at all.
so i pushed open this door, and there was this smell, and i never saw the room or anything, really, but this smell...
i smell it now.
hiking.
"hiking is the greatest addiction. i wish my wife enjoyed hiking too, but she doesn't." he paused, and looked at me. i didn't quite know how to respond to the low regret in his voice, or the way he shifted his gaze to the ground. like he was afraid they were telling me too much. "it's a shame. hiking is wonderful."
i let out a chuckle through my nose, as if i were trying to exhale away settling dust in front of my face. "yeah," i muttered softly, and watched the dust ride on my breath.
shut up.
i think, at this point, you should shut up and just listen. i want you to listen to that sound that is coming from the old light bulbs overhead, and listen to the way your ears want to turn their reception off. listen to the sound of nothing in particular, because when you shut up, you can hear what is actually happening. if you shut up, you can hear the eerie sounds of cars being driven to insignificant places, rushing down the street to catch that turn of yellow light. but it does not really matter, because this is a small town, and it is past midnight, and there are probably no other cars near you. unless, there is a police car behind you.
but there is no police car behind you. you do not hear one, even if you do shut up.
some cars drive slowly. they take their time going down the road, the rubber against the cement that is too hard and hot for bare feet to walk on, and too rough for soft knees to fall on. they have no problem going slow, because they do not need to feel like they are flying on land. if you shut up right now, you can hear one go by on the road visible from your window when the leaves die and fall come autumn. then another one, going slightly faster. it sounds like a turning jump rope going over your body. then another one, slower and slower. red light. green light.
the light bulbs remind you of the time you stuck your finger into the electric socket behind the television shelf. you probably cried a little, but you have no memory of that actually happening. what you remember is what your mother told you. she told you that one day, when you were little, you stuck your finger into the electric socket behind the television shelf. you have no memory of that actually happening. but it would make sense to remember that you were shocked, and electricity went through that finger, and you cried from the unexpected unlasting pain the way children do when they experience unexpected unlasting pain.
and behind the sound of moving cars, you can hear time. that does not actually make sense, but you know that time does move, or at least, people say time passes. and you know that when something moves, it most likely makes some kind of sound. you do not always hear the sounds, but it makes sense that the sounds still do exist. when people ask unanswerable questions, it makes sense that you have no satisfactory answers. when people ask you, "if a tree falls in a forest, but no one is there to hear it, does it still make a noise?" you give them a blank look after briefly thinking about a tree falling down unto the leafy earth. it makes a horrendous sound as its wooden life breaks and its fibers shred themselves into forced separation, landing broken with indignity and death. you see it falling down, and you hear it falling down. you wonder why the people said no one was there to hear it fall, because you heard it fall just now. you heard the noises it made over eleven seconds, the noises of an unprompted, imagined but authentic death. and you still hear the little noises of the dried leaves cracking off under the weight of the fallen wooden soul, now. brittle sounds produced by unexpected unlasting pain.
yes. it makes a noise.
and time moves. warping like that unmicrowaveable plastic plate you placed in the microwave, melting as it stands still on a turning table. it is being made to dance one last number before you realize your mistake and push the open button without pressing "clear" first. you do not feel the microwaves hitting your face but they do. you look with a look on your face as you smell the plastic scent of the death of an unmicrowaveable plate. it looks hideously beautiful. and that should not make sense, but it does, because you know what it means to look hideously beautiful. you know what it means to be warped in time and to melt in heat. you were made to dance once, before you were broken down and became hideously beautiful.
so, time moves like that. you do not see it move just like you do not hear the tree fall. but you do see and hear the light bulbs wearing out, singing in that hideously beautiful voice as they burn through thousands of hours without rest. and you hear those rubber wheels tear themselves up on cement roads. when they hit a bump, you hear them give a shout from their hollow guts. it calms you in a disturbing way to know that when they have traveled over enough roads, that unexpected unlasting pain disappears.
if you shut up, you can hear all of that.
happy perfect yes.
1.
you have been happy
but you are not happy now.
you have been sad
but you are not sad now.
2.
you are fairly certain it does not exist.
you think i am full of rotting butterflies
when i say this and when i say this
you crinkle a little.
3.
sit.
stare.
sleep.
still.
4.
solve.
undefined
piecemeal
limit of infinity.
5.
greener leaves
pinker flowers
pressed in a book
that was never written.
6.
sorry
never did
come
so cheaply.
7.
lightly in the morning you woke up to find
a quiet girl on your arm dressed in
the half of your body
that belonged to her.
8.
yes it's perfect
yes perfect
yes i remember
yesterday was perfect.
9.
the noises he made as he rattled you while you watched him
work away
to stop the dot dot dot
the dot dot dot-ing.
10.
i won't say no
can't say yes.
cotton end.
bed of cotton
swallowed whole
i turn to side of rest
a time spent in rain
in window seeped wet iron
rusted grey never turned silver
branches whipped in weather
beauty babies
dropped in wombless times
moving shapes in glass
unbroken yet so willed
ropes do not hold
covers do not keep
seasons do not wait
for each other's life
howls of an unknown bird
repeat on melted days
pleas through the tunnel
shout after shout
carried by lightning
moments in passing
become the end.
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