EASIER DONE THAN SAID

Where did that go?  Where was it?  Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do with a lot not a great deal just an empty bare space of dirt of desert a vast tub drained of where was it?  Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do with a lot not a great deal just an empty bare space of dirt of desert a vast tub drained of where was it?  Been there somewhere at least the hot breeze and the whipping dirt is wearing away the edges of where thoughts meet with everything else or else flying dirt in the hot breeze decorticates the how it doesn't add up blown away so blown away along the path along the curb along the fence along the edge inserted into walls between this and that and by the way where did that go?  Where was it?  Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do with a lot not a great deal just an empty bare space of dirt of desert a vast tub drained of where was it?  Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do having to be having to do depending on who you talk to or who talks to you at you look away out the other side of the universe parked somewhere in the vicinity of all the other universes waiting in line for the toll booth as they leave their coordinates from inside the tollbooth with that look that looking for something look leaving behind the tollbooth windows getting covered in thicker layers of dirt flying dirt whipping dirt in the hot breeze whipping against what has what hasn't things and their attributes things and what they get to be called and thrown away and their what have you escapes at the moment stuck to the choking on the air the hot breeze and its crack of the whipping dirt trying lamely to spit the sand out over the top of the teeth bottomed out on the basin and its tollbooth left have they to look with that searching look for that dried hose for washing away this small pool of spit up brought up sand along with bits of undigested food sticking to feet weakening under the encumbrance of having of having or trying to bring this up at the wrong time and on the wrong rock hovering somewhere waiting to get in that line that goes on away from and goes on towards the tollbooth empty while they slap the hose against the dirt thumped into the hot breeze like exhalations don't bring it up stay down doesn't matter if staying down lying down breathing heavily before her opening up beginning to glisten that was stay down stay quiet not too loud they'll hear starting to dry starting to chafe said too much to them said too much to the plastic to the metal to the whipping hot breeze carrying too much said too much too far can't get far enough far enough away still here not too loud.


"Hang it up."
"It's already hung up."
"Then how come someone's still talking?"
"I don't hear anything."
"Yes, you do."
"How do you know what I hear?"
"Because I hear it and you're close enough."
"Close enough to do what?"
"You're right.  You and your questions.  Hang it up again just to make sure the talking stops and then move away."
"I hung it up again which makes how many times?"
"You and your questions.  And stop trying to count!"
"Now we move away."
"Now we what?"
"You heard yourself, don't deny it."
"Hang it up again."
"We've been trying that."
"We have haven't we?"
"You and your questions."
"No, it's you and your questions."
"Whatever, now the next step, remember?"
"The next step.  The moving away step."
"If we move away we'll break apart."
"We're already broken apart."
"Next step.  We've been changing our mind going up and down these steps that wrap around someone else's head."
"Can't wrap your head around it."
"Can't untangle it."
"Should we try to hang it up one more time?"


Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do having to be having to do depending on who you talk to or who talks to you at you look away out the other side of the universe parked somewhere in the vicinity of all the other universes waiting in line for the toll booth as they leave their coordinates from inside the tollbooth with that look that looking for something look leaving behind the tollbooth windows getting covered in thicker layers of dirt flying dirt whipping dirt in the hot breeze whipping against what has what hasn't things and their attributes things and what they get to be called and thrown away and their what have you escapes at the moment stuck to the choking on the air the hot breeze and its crack of the whipping dirt trying lamely to spit the sand out over the top of the teeth bottomed out on the basin and its tollbooth left have they to look with that searching look for that dried hose for washing away this small pool of spit up brought up sand along with bits of undigested food sticking to feet weakening under the encumbrance of having of having or trying to bring this up at the wrong time and on the wrong rock hovering somewhere waiting to get in that line that goes on away from and goes on towards the tollbooth empty while they slap the hose against the dirt.




- Max Stoltenberg