Wednesday, April 18, 2012

PEEPHOLE UNDERTAKERS

Calls cut short by long fuses that go out along the way the wayward meandering buttoned up in a repellent breeze locking the door noisily as the next step is taken taken away.  Eyes move back and forth with the reflection of the clock pendulum swinging back and forth swinging back and forth in its glass compartment glass box swinging back and forth can see it in one's reflection about all the reflecting done in the past back and forth back and forth the next step back and forth taken away something is burning has been burning back and forth smoke pulsing back  and forth in its glass compartment glass box pulsing the sidewalk pulsing maybe bending the knees soreness plain as plainness pulsing through the veins a vein pulsing in the wrist one of the two back and forth from a something around the neck pulsing smoke blurry not quite in focus like the old sidewalk putting the side of the head an ear to the sidewalk for a pulse a side of the head an ear back and forth decisions decisions adding subtracting arrows cracked and some other thing wrong with them adding subtracting decisions decisions back and forth to this to that to it step to it next step is taken taken away hair threading into the cracks of the concrete side of the jaw stubble skin scraping against the cheek cold cheek of the world can't go our separate ways not with the reflection and the pulsing of the smoke out of focus pendulum back and forth in its glass compartment glass box.


Shoes stopped a couple heels away.  Worn laces dribbled down the mouths of footwear held half open as if pathetically squeezed and divided to be silenced and made to utter confirmation of embarrassment.  Hands dug into coat pockets and pants pockets and emerged and re-emerged back and forth back and forth and forth and back. Fingers were snapped to summon thoughts that would not come out of their dark corners.


Hal: Who's calling who?
Smudge: Don't call us.
Hal: Let me guess.  You beg to differ.
Smudge: I beg to dissolve right in.
Hal: When you stretch your arm doesn't matter which or it might across the table while holding a glass doesn't matter if it has anything in it or it might where do you go?
Smudge: This one again?  
Hal: This is a variation or do you want me to come back later?
Smudge: I haven't for quite some time.
Hal: You haven't what?  Been at a table?
Smudge: Well, that, too, now that you bring it over here, but what I mean is that I haven't stretched out my arm.
Hal: Making a soggy paper plane out of yourself are you?
Smudge: You know me too well and it doesn't matter or it might.
Hal: Heard anything yet laying there?
Smudge: Nothing but a lump in the surface that's slunk along right over here and started jabbering.
Hal: Once there was a man and it wasn't me damn it so don't even think of it a worm might come from a nearby puddle and make its bed in your ear or under your cheek or make you blink incessantly as it pushes the envelope into the corner filling up with tears.
Smudge: There hasn't been a puddle since before I had the misfortune of making your acquaintance whilst having you trip over me at the dump.
Hal: That's not how it happened.
Smudge: Aw, fuck, he's gonna go cosmogonical on me.  Nearly deflated one of my lungs with those shoes.  The very ones.
Hal: Incessantly blinking.  How does that sound?  Let the words crawl about in your ear and settle in your cortex.  I repeat, how does that sound?
Smudge: I heard you the first time.  That's the problem.  Still too much matter left to hold to let it seep in.  A crawling a digging could do some welcome damage.  
Hal: Back and forth back to it once there was a man not me a man once there was who before he jumped made sure to look.
Smudge: Which way?
Hal: It doesn't matter or it might.  Now look what you've done.  It wasn't a man it was someone who and it wasn't me so don't even go on about it.  And it wasn't once there was a man who jumped.  It was more than once.  It was many times.  It was many many times.
Smudge: Grave mistake.
Hal: All those repetitions?
Smudge: Not likely.  Don't call us.  We'll call you.  Which way?  I'm asking which way is the grave underneath the surface just below the surface of all the insisting all the plans all the rubbing the ear the jaw the stubble against the world where the body goes the one trying to get back to breaking and entering puts up with the exhausted back and forth her putting up with it only so long after never seeing those green hills you talked about never got that far she putting up with it only so long after never seeing putting up with your not being able to rub two words together anymore.  Don't call us.  We'll call you.  I'm only asking which way is the grave underneath the surface just below the surface?


Back and forth from a something around the neck pulsing smoke blurry not quite in focus like the old sidewalk putting the side of the head an ear to the sidewalk for a pulse a side of the head an ear back and forth decisions decisions adding subtracting arrows cracked and some other thing wrong with them adding subtracting decisions decisions back and forth to this to that to it step to it next step is taken taken away hair threading into the cracks of the concrete side of the jaw stubble skin scraping against the cheek cold cheek of the world can't go our separate ways not with the reflection and the pulsing of the smoke out of focus pendulum back and forth in its glass compartment glass box.


Shoes stopped a couple heels away.  Worn laces dribbled down the mouths of footwear held half open as if pathetically squeezed and divided to be silenced and made to utter confirmation of embarrassment.  Hands dug into coat pockets and pants pockets and emerged and re-emerged back and forth back and forth and forth and back. Fingers were snapped to summon thoughts that would not come out of their dark corners.



1 comment: