OUTLINE OF A CITY
I dreamed that I couldn’t participate in the family reunion because I’d been exposed to yellow fever. I wasn’t able to kiss any of my relatives or even go near them, even though they all wanted to come near me and kiss me.
The days recently have been like waves washing up and collecting in a big pile. When I imagine a pile of waves I see sort of a modern art sculpture. It makes a shore ugly and confusing. It mars the sight lines. But I don’t think of my life like a shore.
I think of my life like a rope that I keep pulling out of the ground, foot after foot, wondering when it’s going to run out. When I feel brave, I look down into the hole where the rope is coming from and see things. Sometimes the outline of a city, sometimes a dancing mouse.
Once or twice a year, I feel brave.
I have read, at this point, what seems like a lot of books. For the most part, what I read seems to just slide right off of my brain, but I know bits and pieces get in there anyway. Just like people. I think of some people as being flavorless and weak, like cups of gas station coffee. They cost pennies, or used to. And I’m sure there are those who think about me in the same way. But one way or the other, we leave a trace.
Doesn’t that make you feel good, at least a little bit?
MOSTLY SILENCE
Mice and moles made of paper cuts chasing down a dream. Kids fight, animals fight. They always say you didn’t have to do that. What a hopeless code, like setting off a firework in your hand. Like a firework set off in your hand. Everything is a dream, so no need to give chase. Open the front page, see for yourself. Can’t find the spin for the fog you’re in. Some are certain this is the meaning of meditation. I want to break through with you, but not to the other side. It’s hard. I’ve heard that consciousness is two parts water and one part breath. It is not like the din of a city. It doesn’t sound like Loveless. It is mostly silence, and how do you even describe what that’s like? Here’s an idea for a mental illness. Here’s an idea for a car with no windows. Here’s a perfect study of the resurrection. Craft, and diligence. Tremors and tracings. Of course I feel eyes on me. There’s a lot I need to let go, but first I’ll treat you horribly for a while. Define gray areas everywhere. Like I said. Split the baby’s lip and you’ll get a cancer of guilt and a gut. But you can do something about it. Just remember what’ll render the past unsurvivable. Got rizz on your spacesuit. I think a loaded question asked you to do that. And all while asleep in the museum of asymmetry. Twofold more difficult to spell. 2 Kool 2 Be 4-Gotten. This is what the Earth has been dreaming of, deep down in its planetary gears. I put hot sauce on my Earth to let it know I notice it everyday.
LOCAL DIGEST
Who forgot to drip the taps?
Who forgot to read the meter?
Who forgot poems, and flowers?
Who forgot to say the death poems to the flowers?
Who forgot to read even one American novel?
Who forgot to join the choir of myopia?
Who forgot to tell it like it is?
Who forgot to call in from outer space?
Who forgot what a town is made of?
Who forgot I hide under your bed and you hide under mine?
Who forgot to make our drinks on the house?
Who forgot to leave a key under the mat?
Who forgot to turn off the rain?
