It’s not that sweet,

but we can mostly roll with whatever ,

so the taste will be different.

The soundtrack missed too, for once.

but all the tracing I did with my feet, my toes

on the cold tile,

will remain,

like streaks on a mirror,

in the same line, the same column.

You worked on Christmas one year, anyway.\

         That’s separate thought, probably.

We just don’t know them that well yet,

we don’t know any of it that well yet, 

but we remember.

those hieroglyphics,

the dirty dishes.

The way I run my fingers through my own hair// the recollection // the board meeting.

The blood in my hair // the hieroglyphics // punctuated how we wanted them to be.

in the first place/////

captured by fluorescence/////

we are talking about me here, were talking about me         and fluorescence 

the flora and fauna//

the brightness in here////

Delete what was used

what we used,         then and ever.

over and over.

over and over.

What I ate,

what I sang with after flipping my hair

, my hand in the cookie jar

any jar, for that matter.

my plastic, sticky, cheesy fingers, poking around

looking for mysteries to solve, running out of breath;

unsure of which faded button controls the volume anymore.

I can always add back in,,, turn it back up/////

All that noise is what you get sitting in the front row,

trying to catch those doors, and the curtains before they close at intermission.

Its what we get when we can really see our breath, see our arms and hands catching those doors,

and we haven’t even talked about any of it,

and appear on talk shows and wait in the same lines together , someday.

What we deserve, wherever the cursor ends up ; where are arms and hands end up.

but maybe, not exclusively, those eventualities.

Dealing mostly in anonymity / and stolen art / and stolen evenings.

Greeted by these conditions ,          all of it stolen// allocated // deliberate.

( we had it right allocated the first time)

I meant what I said.

and after taking the tail clean off.

I meant what I said.

All those dreams of hallways and staircases in buildings from when you were about 4?

All those red bricks you remember are gone, decapitated, filed away.

All those synthesizers that accompanied those same dreams?

they are probably gone too. 

Reduced to nothing but accomplices now, feedback and treble clefs,

married away , arms and hands // in that order

in confidence // along to Jeddah.

” I like how I ended it_” –

” I like how I ended it_” –

Even when my influence is limited

even if it seems heightened; as long as we get more ammunition.

What is he doing here? Thank god for the subtitles.

Thank god we swam faster then,

thank god we differentiated from what was actually on the script.

More passion in the moment then we could have ever scripted.

Faster then we ever could have , ( scripted it )

whether or not we are in a vacuum ,

or in auditorium ;

or ever have been/ what has been;

and thank god we swam faster then,

thank god we swam.

Is that the play?

Are those the estates?

This grinding feeling,

this feeling of breathing too hard,

this feeling of breathing for someone else.

The lyrics pushed me in a different direction ; something that felt better coming off the tongue.

something more coherent,

it just felt right.

It just felt more honest, for once.

The sentence immediately following the semicolon  //   Stand up while your in the senate.

in the shadows, unsure of what’s been said,

plagiarism be damned, I guess , but            I really don’t think so.

I wish everyone could feel this;    this folklore.  this discretion.

                    these stab wounds.

See that chair in that starlight?

It’s outline, its frame, the placement. the pandemonium. The precedent.

Understand what means to me, all of those endeavors,

the pandemonium.

aside from all of that, and its colors and how the light caught it.

caught you;

caught me.

  All of it

and where you’ll end up sitting, too.

       Taught caught me

The tremors,

the daunting task of staring over,

to rewind, again.

Everything in serendipity, all at once.

It all comes crashing in, happening all the time,

Without complex words and fanfare

and paragraph after

paragraph after

paragraph after

paragraph

all on an empty stomach.

The PO Boxes, the addresses,

                      and paragraph after paragraph.

Who I perceive; who may not be,. (who I probably even guess right after double checking )

All on a empty feeling,

Nothing is a certainty.

        I just said as much,

The folds have been more crisp, the seams more real,

I just said as much.

cataclysm after cataclysm.

…..if you’ve followed us this far///

its almost never enough,

the view or the feeling or the laugher,

sometimes // this time /// it just might be enough.

When it all feels inevitable,

when no mistakes are made ; when it feels clean coming off the bat, I feel that.

Were just gliding over it, singing it //                    feeling that

Despite the fact our feet are soaked, digging into the clay, pouring over every line.

Responsible enough to light that candle in the first place, to not put it further along in the margins.

to misspace it, to not let it be a poem of its own.

                                   Feeling that.

Responsible enough at least to ignore the search bar, and the canals.

     to not let it become a poem of its own.

Despite the fact that not enough people emphasize emphasis with ALL CAPS

that I have seen at least,

I , the masochist.

I haven’t even curled my toes yet,

I, the Masochist.

When it all comes pouring out and the pain runs down your arm and into your bed, too.

Into yours dreams, with me,

IN me.

Sometimes it doesn’t,

sometimes it wont,

sometimes its an infestation,

      IN me.

It isn’t just one line, or stanza or verse,

it’s the whole vehicle ; the entire collision.

Sometimes, it isn’t . Its the song we wanted to hear, needed to hear,

the lowest common denominator.

A cry for help,

no encryptions, a crop circle; a familiar smell.

       A mile away.

IN me,

IT is me.

No hieroglyphics , IN me ; IT is me.

A shakedown

or maybe its not…. or wasn’t.

The song ends in a loop,

and I am thrown for one, for once.

All around.

Everywhere.

On repeat, but cleaning it up as we go ,

just so casual, through it all, breast stroke, backstroke, you name it.

We cut through the water,

Through the rain.

Trying to peer over the trees when we are on land, even through them would be fine.

trying to crane my neck around the totems and the doves,

We are in tempest and everything moves the same direction, including me and those doves

the totems too.

are those footsteps?

all those syllables…

no… those are drums.

all those syllables…

the totems too.

We didn’t hear that from the oracle.

We didn’t hear any of that from you.

We were on mute the whole time, anyways.

Chains hanging loosely,

dragging from behind, like dangling constellations.

Carving up the already paved pavement,

at high speeds, sparks catch everyone’s eyes,

including mine

all at once.

Choking what was , what is,

all at once.

Listless, but my voice was louder than I remember,

a triumphant soundtrack ,

because we want the heat;

because we want the best;

just a scary way to say it all ends in a tie.

Stalling out, giving into the metal and the taste of it ,

giving up to it, the acidity.

Missing out, and it all just started.

Were already looking ahead,

were already punctuated.

Thousands of miles ahead, at best.

Calling out and then forgetting about it, at best.

we cant do that but

I ‘m still beaming ,

I’m still blinking, at best.

We are doing it more often now,

We are missing it more often now, ( I do)

maybe we should, on purpose.

Maybe we can do it without looking now, ( I do)

maybe we are right where we wanna be, ( I am )

maybe we can compromise,

compromise on missing it,

on purpose.

Letting it all come to me

all at once

or learning the patterns of short currents,

the habits of short whispers,

It will still get here, still come in clearly, across the board.

still bounce off the backboard if we let it.

We know the voice, can picture them too.

We can still decipher it, hear it better than anyone else. always.

but where we left our sunglasses ,

when we waited for the pause, better than anyone. always

We are not so sure.

We push ourselves,

but we are not so sure, of anything.

Roll up your sleeves, because of nothing,

in spite of nothing,

drag and drop, always.

Taking chances, now.

Nothing is tumbling; these tactics are obvious.

Nothing is tumbling now,

but then everything is always

but the room is definitely smaller, with pleasure.