HEAVINESS

Don't know what causes it or makes it go away.  All that is known is that it is there right here in the middle of the chest this chest slipping into itself this drain draining away towards nothing and this is as it should be or could be this is all it could be for now or maybe no maybe only maybe for the longest held breath stifled crumpled breath draining and draining restlessly this draining away except all the carpet burns missed those all the nonsense left that bad taste in the mouth couldn't quite get it out a lot of memories images of the in particular the the place that gets evoked by the piece of music ending swiftly down that drain into the dark shaft tunneling away at the place disappearing with its blossoming breeze taking away a soft or harsh death is how it seems to end no children to see it happen only miss it and be told of the absence of the not there didn't manage to drain that part down.

Watching her eyes reflecting an empty glass not half full not half empty just on the order of resolutely and completely empty.  And morose the waiting for the but next comes this.

A tuxedo made for a 2 year old lies on gravel flat with the lack of breeze and heaviness of the air heavy today heavy tomorrow stay and stay.  The old man rides up on his electric scooter and noticing the tuxedo stops and looks for a moment and the beginning of the next headache mutters.

Old Man:  A fine spot to be trying that on.  Wait until your last race becomes funneled down to between you and your deteriorating recliner and seeing which one will be disposed of first.  Nor the sea air I convince myself of its smell of its faint existence tuck it in the straggling hairs on my shrinking head but it really hints of chlorine and I don't recall swimming or did someone take me did they when was the last time that dry my lips out trying to remember a face let alone a name let alone is all it ends up being this being.

Watching her eyes reflecting an empty glass not half full not half empty just on the order of resolutely and completely empty. And morose the waiting for the but next comes this.

A tuxedo made for a 2 year old lies on gravel flat with the lack of breeze and heaviness of the air heavy today heavy tomorrow stay and stay. The old man rides up on his electric scooter and noticing the tuxedo stops and looks for a moment and the beginning of the next headache mutters.

Old Man:  A fine spot to be trying that on. Wait until your last race becomes funneled down to between you and your deteriorating recliner and seeing which one will be disposed of first. Nor the sea air I convince myself of its smell of its faint existence tuck it in the straggling hairs on my shrinking head but it really hints of chlorine and I don't recall swimming or did someone take me did they when was the last time that dry my lips out trying to remember a face let alone a name let alone is all it ends up being this being.  This being the second time around I've said this.  Somebody painted deja vu on this merry-go-round.  Just when you become man enough all you can pat yourself on the back for is having grown immune to the needles they keep pricking you with and in the same groove.  Are you hearing a word I say little man?  Just wait till you pick yourself back up if you ever get around to it and wait until your last race you know the one between you and the recliner see who gets to the deterioration line first said that before losing track.  Race track could see one if I can just get the damned tube to work again doubt it now.  So I give speeches in front of the black screen dark glass darkly hardly much of the repertoire left make it up while I can stay awake what do I want to even do that for anyway she's sitting or asleep like a rock slab of rejecting my gestures even even now like a rock slab of obsidian like I'd like a cold beer drink it and then stick it to my eyes to get the floating crawling last memories that can't drain my mind dying away as it sticks to the cold beer can or glass even even this these hands trembling.  Keep your fingers out of the sink little man because I am talking to you and mind these words before my chest starts hurting again like folding my whole body in on itself not a bad idea one you wouldn't step on with your dark slab of obsolete those eyes too dark for color.

Watching her eyes reflecting an empty glass not half full not half empty just on the order of resolutely and completely empty. And morose the waiting for the but next comes this.


- Max Stoltenberg