Privy to all the snakebites and other on-goings that will catch your foot if you step off the sidewalk,

even for a second.

Completely unsure where the hyphens go, or how fast lightspeed is,

but we are aware of the snakes and their fears too.

Cords that look just like them,

frayed fiber optic cables,

They came in yellows and reds and some have prongs, and some are even venomous too.

JUST LIKE THEM

The sign reads,,,,

DO NOT DIG

is all the snakes see, and what’s before them,

and what is under the arm of the passerby.

The missed calls are stuck to our shoes,

and the stray pings that rattle off cell towers and other miscellaneous pylons,

The ones howl at the moon.

Like the snakes, I want to work on rolling my tongue back up into my mouth,

So that it wont touch the ground, or the snakes.

and tying my shoes, tying my snakes.

so that I wont feel any other way, besides what the sign says,

DO NOT DIG.

There are two things we got right.

There is one tripwire we stepped over, and the other tripwire we stepped right over,

completely over,

and still we fell in.

and with it?

everything else,

to be exact.

but we still got it right.

I am the one left looking up holding both of my broken ankles, and my breath.

My equilibrium and all the others are still intact;

The balance beam is too far way to know for sure.

Still being taken advantage down here, and still bleeding,

still spun off my axis

still down to the bone, still hiding down here.

We closed the door,

perfectly,

in harmony

and we all knew it.

The crowd knew it too. they always did.

Not in a sad typical way,

like the movies,

but instead

from A GLASS CASE FROM FAR AWAY

dancing outside,

a prospect that we didn’t know was in reach.

because it keeps coming, like the rain.

That basin, and your lucky we got this far

but it catches it all,

I get it now, the charity, the step back everyone has to take.

but mostly me, alwAYs.

all that advice,

all that snow,

That is the formula, forbade from me, who are you?

and everyone else you got to know when to subdue the harmony,

not sure what what column were in

but well scramble to get there.

This is coming all at once.

roman numerals or hot baths or times new romans or

none of the above.

Helsinki but still likely to live forever, despite the anottions or the dayh of the week

or what time it was,

and still legible and likely to live forever ,

even if don’t believe in it, or see it

your still the godfather; your still bravery, incarnate .

‘ll quit when I’m ahead///

sneak up on me,

opened up, foaming at the mouth.

spilt on the couch,

foaming at the mouth,

falling asleep in the spill,

and waking up wet.

Running out of things to say and things to spill

or spell.

Keeping score,

Keeping dry,

but everything is drenched now.

We are all too much for this, still foaming at the mouth ,

at this moment, in the beginning.//

That intro that we always look forward to.

the windchimes,

those chords.

We are much louder than either of those.

Purge whatever is left inside,

the errors, fuck it just get it all out.

whatever I didn’t spell, or regurgitate ,

or turn up , or meddle,

or mettle

and pretend I understand the difference.

We found the end wasn’t quite as clear.

We found the end , about as clear as sand dunes in the distance.

Before silver and gold; and as clear as what preceded both of those.

Preceding torture and preceding the wind, too.

Two separate things thing entirely; two desperately lonely things.

given the chance to be on the right side,
I turned my Judas ear towards the noise,

to the spaces,

to the traffic; to the apostles .

It’s not clear who or what’s left,

the pages torn out of this particular mystery novel,

right before the end .

We are fading to black quicker than I thought, and the sound isn’t quite as clear now.

I am afraid I wont get it right; all the static and the stories I cant get out the right way,

all the spare parts,

all sounding the same, lately.

We found it right before we finished, at dawn, we did it.

We found the answer.

I am plural.

before the sun came up,

many spaces apart……

I am plural.

none of those stories though,

before any more good ideas, before any answers.

I am poetic.

I can type without looking, at certain points,

even when its dark and

and I came up with the end without looking because it sounded similar,

I came up with something,

before I could see anything else in front of me,

or by reading ahead to the last page, by reading anything.

so there’s that ,

there’s always that

That streak of light

pouring all over my feet,

oil all over my feet,

all over the stars,

and into thin air.

All over what I really wanted to say.

Through the window,

out of that window.

It isn’t cracked; and it never was or will be.

All that tar and the sap and the light all must have seeped in from somewhere,

the roots, those snakes; too.

from another open window,

from yet another crashing wave.

That’s what what really held it all up

t hose trees , all that low hanging fruit,

and the beating sun

no more shade,

or tethering anything .

come back,

and that beating sun.

come back.

Stories are told quickly and mistakes are definitely made,

and I am always last on the scene, constantly.

The last one to the crash site.

The one to to the phenomenon.

I’ll still use the same channels and frequent the same channels.

The same faces of as all of those statues and scarabs ,

and dial the same numbers.

Those same soft numbers that we’ll never, ever forget.

Hoisted up with and by winches and propped as to be not understood all those these years later,

discovered, and buried,

discovered, then, buried.

Out of the corner of your mouth, ,

it comers ,

it screams

but all we wanted was more open windows,

I understand this and can articulate this now,

I have a semblance of a jaw now,

despite the circumference and everything it took to get there,

it could be more,

all at once,

it could be more,,,,,

with additional contributors and ghost writers and semicolons, too.

Jack the ripper

and a laugh track, and viper,

it could be more…

on repeat too,

with the proper spacing, probably,

it was jack the ripper,

it landed center, middle, maybe .

it landed a little to the left, maybe

and it feels GREAT coming out of the barrel,,,,,

as it leaves my hand,

as those stiches abrade my fingers as I attempt what’s left of a curveball.

bullseye.

strike three.

(Despite the spacing ) ( Long pause)

worry about me,,,,,

bullseye.

Getting comfortable ,

after the break, and amongst pillows; amongst angels,

amongst friends, and monuments, and angels .

I’m telekinetic

Where We are in real time,,,,,,,

We are living during the the commercial break; the compound fracture,

the sequel,

growing up and into the sequoia,

we have to ask ourselves where we are

and if we can even feel it,

and if its even still worth it .

worth the spacing, or the repercussions.

Worth outlasting the commercials and all the waiting around

all the salt and the fat to make the feature film really worth the wait,

worth it just watching the clouds speed by faster than they ever have before, when we look up,

when anyone looks up,

getting more comfortable than they ever have before, with thier head tiled and mouth ajar,

ready to catch water; and angels

ready to catch all the counterpunches ready to to absorb EVERYTHING ,

even the angels .