Saturday, April 23, 2016

sunday, 3:55pm

when did this start?,
before the long weekend with the perfect weather
and the steady, controlled pace of moderating
immoderate rage with whatever was at hand,
stumbling hands under the couch and under the sink
looking for things to throw at it,

numberless day, nameless moments

left hand still shrieking from a bad catch last week,
swollen thumb shaking its way through untied shoelaces on one foot
undone cuffs on on wrist

despite all efforts : aimless day,
gentle, smiling sunny minutes gnawing away,
eroding the last of it

and with nothing left at 4pm
the day yawns and the real trouble will begin.

how , how , how? , to deal with that?

(if i start burning now, by tuesday morning...


saturday, 9:12

he plays videogames and taps his feet to the blaring trance
i read ee cummings and listen to my body fill and release like a giant heart

and he tries the nanoblocks again
and i look for poems about kisses and consider sending them to you

the clothes dryer turns
it's the bats' mating season and they have a lot to say about it outside ;
saturday night doesn't notice any of this as it casually inspects itself

(and grainy seconds coalesce into minutes hours longweekends nexybirthdays and
___a wave called Time grows into a wall )

and i drink and do another line and read
and shutout the doppler effect
and try to find a shortcut to the other side

Friday, April 22, 2016

2016: a portrait

- its muscular shadow - don't you sense it?, like we're all pinned in a half-nelson we can't see?

well i haven't seen a turn-off in a little while now, and, well, frankly, i'm a bit concerned - see, we've been going for a while now and it's just straight and there's no way off this highway and it's not coming to anything and it's getting us further-on and i haven't seen a thing worth looking at in miles and hours

she crosses the street when i get home.
and sits on the porch with me.
and listens out for cars in the distance, and scratches her ears
while i wait for my breathing to slow.

there's no capacity for description anymore, this implicates the possibility of a numbness so generalised that experience is negated - not felt, not understood, it can't be described - a nerveless heaven full of cinder blocks and tuesday mornings and tired flowers we're too tired to throw out when we arrive home at midnight and leave again 5 hours later.

How to Pin Butterflies: a Guide
14 steps to easy pinning

- Q, are you bored, i'm concerned you might be bored -
- huh?
- i can sense it, you get... tired, a little different, from time to time, i think it's when you're bored,
- [...]
- ________and we all get it, you're an intellectual powerhouse, and we want you here and we want to make sure we're giving you enough to feel stimulated, _______ ;
- [...]

___*___ *___ *

- and have you thought about your next 12 months?
- Yes.
- [...]
- .
- [...]
- .
- mm. Well, I guess that brings us to....

- hey so you know that stray cat?
- Kitty.
___yes, her name isn't Kitty
_____________________yes it is.
- it's not, she belongs to the people across the street, she's theirs.
- her name is Kitty.
- we can't adopt her Q.
- but they don't look after her very well

do you want to half a gram with-

i awake on the couch shivering with a dark grey patch across the chest where half a glass of bourbon has absorbed into my shirt
i throw it in the laundry, turn off the lights, set the alarm to give me 2 more hours, and
stop in the doorway to look at the dark bed