Metaphors and medication rack brains to recall the color the shape. What is it for? Back at the stain the spilled soda on a park bench taking the sitting down and standing up of visitors visiting across from the cemetery that wriggled along on all fours or on all sixes or eights or most of its segments. Segments wormed over sediment in an underwhelming approach that was not considered Earth shattering. The deteriorated worked their way on top of the conditioned and inexact. Getting the most current dirt on the very grounded.
Dark dirt where is the water? Haven't seen it where is the water? Cattle lie down in puddles full of mostly their shit rather than water. Time is dispensed in larger dosages time release capsules leaking out more life more slowly and here we are for more dread more bad news more ends to justify the meaningless that goes on and on there is no end just the taking away of moments that cannot be relished long enough only dosages of time between them that swell in inflammation.
Man: Better get to the doctor.
Woman: What is it now?
Man: It's not healing.
Woman: I find humming helps.
Man: Humming?
Woman: It creates a really nice buzz along with a warmth that or was it a ziploc bag filled with 6 inches of shortening and dipped into a bucket of ice water? No, realistically the same effect can be achieved with just a few tons of whale blubber.
Man: Why did I convince myself to listen and wait as if you would have something useful to say at the end of all that?
Woman: Because there's no point after all.
Man: That you have correct.
Woman: No point since we've broken away.
Man: I was beginning to put that out of my awareness. Now thanks for reminding me.
Woman: So you could go about your business of not healing?
Man: Damn straight ahead.
Woman: I don't know if we are. Disasters send us in a direction I wouldn't describe as straight. We can get very focused and concentrated except for the preoccupations of the every day. All this while we're being sent off in some sharp angle so sharp with its quickly dissipating radius turning around the vacuous basin holding our neighborhood slowly settling and sinking into the cavernous chamber pot that awaits underneath until it churns and breaks up another grid to send more houses off to the edge of the impression where we might think we've reached a new plateau only to return back into the dry heaving wave pool as it casts and recasts us about unable to find the power switch.
Man: I'm definitely not healing. I think the infection is spreading.
Woman: Forget what I said about humming.
Man: I had until you brought it up just now.
Woman: You should be glad I've stopped bringing up breakfast.
Man: I am. How's lunch doing?
Woman: It's having too much fun fucking around with my esophageal elevator, but it's feeling like it's eventually going to make for the rear exit soon.
Man: Your plumbing might finally be working again, but I don't think the house's is.
Woman: I could go out for alternative facilities but I don't think I'd be able to keep up with the trajectory of the house. Plus the cemetery might overtake me.
Man: This might be an opportunity to practice your body surfing.
Woman: Since I opened the window and popped off the screen it hasn't slowed down, but I'm willing to give it a shot.
Man: Your nightgown might get caught on the sill. I'd get an erotic view as you dropped unless knowing your luck you wedged between the house and the waves of earth.
Woman: My luck? When was the last time I was wedged nude between the house and ground?
Man: Just that sloppy spill you took last week that kind of makes me think of this situation.
Woman: There were three spills last week. Which one are you referring to? Anyway, what makes you think I would jump in my nightgown? Don't answer that either.
Man: I do also have my mind on the burgundy blouse, I really like that one.
Woman: I can't seem to get those annoying spots out.
Man: On the burgundy blouse? Damn. Damn it all.
Woman: Why are you shouting?
Man: Either the movement of the house is getting louder or faster or I thought a little more dramatic reading would be appropriate at this juncture especially with you offering to jump out the window.
Woman: Why would the house still be accelerating? Don't tell me you're going to put it down to dark energy.
Man: No, soon it'll be getting too dark to do anything and we'll have to wait for the morning so we can see more of what the dead have left us.
Woman: We might want to close the window so nothing grave will flood in. I've getting tired of bailing foul earth.
Man: I flopped two dead bodies out earlier, I just remembered to tell you while you were barfing. I figured they were sort of related.
Woman: It's more difficult to dignify or normalize anything nowadays.
Man: I admit I got behind on disposing of the bodies. I get carried away reading some of the epitaphs even though they are rather pathetic.
Woman: We'd better move the bookcase.
Man: I'd settle for you trying on the broom skirt again.
Woman: The bookcase needs to be against the window to function as a barrier.
Man: To function as a barrier.
Woman: What? Yes, function.
Man: I'm sorry. I'm still trying to parse that one. My mind must be rejecting that term.
Woman: Function. Flustered. Fucking. Furious.
Man: I guess those are the next to go after all the vowels those long round vowels. No music.
Woman: Maybe I will try the broom skirt.
Man: It's getting too dark.
Woman: We could try both jumping out into the dark.
Man: Whether we're inside or out the Earth takes us on its back shaking us apart along the way and smashing us into each other.
Rollover turnover right side up. Back up and not for long. Longer and longer between each foot ending back up on the ground. Rollover turnover right side up. Back up and not for long. Longer and longer time release capsules stretching intervals between each step stepping out measuring what the dead roll over rolling over and the living turnover turning and turning the roundabout.
- Max Stoltenberg
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