Waiting for Work

Drawn toward center. Ink spirals apprehensively in mumbled longhand, in halting sketch. Feel the pen-work weight. My eyes hurt. Darkened in the middle figure where heat and pressure melt to un-solid un-liquid. Collapse is impossible and inevitable. Color irrelevant.

Perhaps Land'll Rise 'n Answer the Flood

Taller; a bit off balance.

Clergy 1, Laity 0

A homeless woman sits across a small table in the library. Buttering a roll, peopling the air with the smell of sweat and old blood. She's a stage voice and a made stage-still amid the careless kids. "I LOVE YOUR LANGUAGE," she shouts at the night-sitter filling her charge with watery French.

In Lieuofliving

There is a large ivory fountain in the center of town. It is water shaped—like the Atlantic Ocean or a pear—and not very deep except drastically in pool sized dimples where the older still-children congregate and play "Last One Back's a Treasure Chest!" Which means you dive until the water shatters all your semi-permeable membranes. Johnny says it's like falling asleep but none of us can follow him far enough to feel. Yesterday I kicked down through the thickening blue water. My eyes glued to his teal glowing heals. His last breath hit me like splash in the face.

We. Try. But. We. All. Ways. Suck. Seed.

Jumpstartjumpsuponthe coffeetablecollapsesachoreographed flightofsandwichesandsoda. Ensuesthattendanteyesfollow atcrosspurposes.Hedoesn'tsee hefeelsmindstouchmindstouch him"I've got your
attention,"
hesayswiththeconfidenceof onethousandgoldenchariots hurtlingthecoherentmuscle
oftenthousandhorses toward theonlygloriousend everycharioteerfeelspersistent intheempty chamberofhisheart,longsfor, andwillhave.
Hesnapshisfingersandlooks purposefullyintotheempty threefeetfromhistemple. Nothingappears.
"See?"

How Can I Stop Time if/ Blood Flows Only Forward?/I am Thankful for/ The Reflexivity/Of Breath.

I inhabit this place. She rotates quietly on her axis. I don't feel her spinning. But I can feel tomorrow cold as a fish she called herself when I met her. Brother said it would suck to be one; You have a funny heart.
-Oh?
-Two chambers.
-In, out?
-Inner, outer.
-How many times? There's the thing, and the thing you say about the thing. They get in one another's way. It's harder than the two-step.
-Baby, it's not like playing at pool. Words kiss worlds and all you're left with is 8's crying, NOT YET, NOT YET!

Fish flesh cooks up white and light like snow. The skin you keep to keep it together. Metal grey and bright as sun in oil.
-Oil in sun?
-I'd touch you but you'd disappear.

To review:
1.
2. Two chambered heart; variations on a theme.
A. Every action is an action and an equal and opposite reaction.
B. Kiss me.

or C. Let's us kiss. Or catch a catfish kissing at "the surface of the air". Because it's never true when you get up close. There's the third place that's not air and not water and if you make yourself small enough and clear enough you can float there's company. Scum and feathers.

Why I Write You Such Crappy Email

1. A beautiful young black woman opened a dance studio on my block Monday.
2. I woke up at 620 and was only 5 minutes late for yoga at 635.
3. I spent the morning at the library, accepting Jason's changes to my AARP Nevada Update copy.
4. On Wednesdays it is bumbling with lackadaisical children and persistent childcare workers.
5. Tomorrow there's a modern class from 5 to 7.
6. My bike's break's loose.
7. I do not want to be misunderstood.
8. But language is a private endeavor.
9. What is this like?
10. The world opens on hinges. Tiny elves hear it squeak and rush with oil to grease the gear heads. They are furiously glad for the work they have been given. They dream of ball joints and make love in circles.
11. Forth and forth.
12. It's like a home. It's like letting guests know where the bathroom is. Asking if they'd like some juice.

Like Thunder but Longer than Thunder

It was dark outside Monday morning. I was sleeping next to my brother an explosion woke us. He pulled on my shirt sleeve Holy Shit! Mom! The sound hung in the air. Like thunder but longer than thunder. Thunder and the memory of thunder rung together.

Mom at the stair to meet him.

Back to bed vivid as a body's memory of sleep.