Saturday, September 20, 2008


night is an open window. 
a two-sided thing. 

footsteps, car-stereos, 
the sound of waves:
open windows. 

dreams, Descartes, orangoutangs:
ways out. 

in the end, 
after the confusion, 
there is no wave left. 
just a little hand that reaches out
ever so slippery
to touch your toes. 

on the other side of open windows, 
after the leap, fall, crash;
there is another world. (maybe)

or this same one, 
upside down. 

or this same one, 
right side up. 

Autumn is slipping from my fingers. 
the prickly needle-tips of branches
have green buds. when i walk in the city, 
those trees have white buds. like little feathers, 
or dandelions pretending they're stars. reborn dreams, 
recounted memories, misplaced chess-pieces come home. 

i'm alone all the time, 
that's why i see them again: 
windows. archways. cave-entrances. 
other places. 
misplaced faces. displaced spaces,

places it's hard to come back from. 

and the other side of night
is not day. 
or granite. 
or the bottom of the Atlantic. 

it's a quietest place,
a darkness)est place;

and dreams, detached from sleep or eyelids,
walk freely, and
discourage exploration;
and that is to say:

the sea does not tire of her own voice. 
i walk for an hour, still the same conversation. 
relieved it's not me that has to make chatter, 
i hug my books and walk on. 

on some rocks i see a beautiful girl
in black jeans, oversized sweatshirt, and barefoot- 
black curly hair, 
whose face stares at the water
____(and never notices me walk past)

a mermaid. 
(or siren)

a doorway.
(or well)

(later, i remind myself to dive into darkness, 
and determine to not crawl back out)

____(viii. EPILOGUE)
- there are no waves left to corroborate any part of this story. 
- the siren was never identified or located. 
- upon examination the sea was mute as a whalebone. 
- we have no evidence to support the existence of any such windows.
- wells have long since been filled in, or blocked off.
- the author of this story has not, to date, been found. 

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