Looking forward to every other day now

the days we are to face the grit,

forced to watch the black and white documentaries

in hurried voices

in hushed tones

Every last piece is finished, and we know what needs to be said.

Everything is on purpose.

before it is said  ||||||| before it is sad

Every nuance is crushed.

The new grass outweighs the weeds.

The new swimming pool is cooler,

more clear,

  textualized,

and crushed still further,

more like a diamond than you or any other swimming pool because of it.

but it is still cold and confused,

like you and all those diamonds, and some of the other swimming pools.

The sun barely peeks through\

everything is grounded,

everything is polished, and personified.

The water is still , but only from a distance,

the steak knives all the way from yesterday are still as sharp as they are today,

We are a swarm of waiting knots,

          waiting collectively for a table,

and the bubble will eventually pop for no reason;

we had a few different outcomes here,

a few different options

a few different stanzas.

But they are all here,  tucked in.

        laid out quickly,

laid out here,

but (k)not here

Whatever was left,

what didn’t get deleted.

Put it right out in the middle so it doesn’t get knocked over,

so it can bee seen for miles and miles and miles an miles and

lies and lies and lies

mirages and mirages and mirages.

My extremities haven’t given in yet,

they are still out too lunch,                as a matter of a fact.

and we can go basking in the relaxing,   phony, hard-to-come-by sun,

In non-notion,

sinking deeper, instead of bleeding out chapter by chapter,

deeper and deeper into character,

for miles and miles and miles….

Thanks for the glowing blue lights,

and the connectivity, and the smoke signals too.

and if i don’t look down i wont forget.

I wont fall in love.

I wont align anything.

You’ll have to guess where the number 5 is and where it is i left off.

      and what it means and why there’s 5 of them

and why the i’s aren’t

capitalized

italicized

(((((((capsized)))))))

and where I left off; where it drifted off too.

You’ll just be left to speculate, 

out there on the edge of a cliff;

          on an island.

While looking through all of the drawers you’ll find all sorts of amnesia and slow motion

and some other missing things, and jagged rocks,

there are so many jagged rocks,

in the(re)

out the(re)

over the(re)

DARK.

We saw right through it ,

around it,

through echoes and dictations .

This placement of the furniture works for some things ,

right over the plate sometimes,

and not so much for others…

but mostly it works.

Except for all the things we haven’t tried yet.

give them all to me.

all of those.

Most importantly of all I feel like I am back,

and reclined, for now.

As if I am fully on TV, at least.

Behind a desk,,,, uncomfortable but still smiling,,,,, for now.

These words come to me , aND WHIZ BY ME

like fastballs,

FASTBALLS,              for now…

No lights

no title

don’t skip ahead

don’t skip to a better song,

wait it out through the commercials.

Sit down and attempt to flesh out a fable

battle through all that bright light  and all the papers left behind by all those spies,

who left so quickly through the open doors,,,, and you forgot what was in your hand

forgot that it was touchscreen

forgot how quickly you opened the doors.

//////Forgot what was in your hand,

and in their hands, too.

When they left to burning in the rearview,

left to laugh; to carry on.

All of it burning behind them,

burning and laughing ,

burning,,,,

knowing what it all means,

knowing, ,,,

          knowing what’s to come

Its early tonight,

a night full of observations; ( more or less )

and wants ( more or less)

It’s still early,

sitting pretty; those beautiful footsteps ,

and all the pretty things said about another person, and their footsteps too.

About thier voice and thier delivery and thier face and arms,

everything about those theifs,,,,

all the misspelling and all the gunfire;

Heavy are those footsteps; those poems weigh more than you think.

No one was sure we’d eventually end up here.

drowned out but the clatter of ghosts, and those heavy beautiful footsteps,

and the horses, and the the syllables and the rounds and rounds of scurrilous applause

and everything they’ll eventually trample in between.            

Sedated or not,

in bold, or otherwise inscribed into precious metals;

thriving with your initials ||| ON ME |||| IN BOLD

How to hold my head ; in which way to cradle my sinking head like you do.

Dragging it and my body through sloughs of copper , submerged in it .

digging through it, around in it;

and I hope your dreams aren’t mine,

and I hope that copper is always enough for you

and that the silver is , too.

Along with that sinking feeling,,,

all of those precious metals and much to do about nothing; about something.

Instead ,

we are

they are;

It is, always///

||||| EMPHASISIZED IN BOLD

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.