HALTING LINES

Meaning meaning what meaning is for meaning rushing from the Sun slowing down crawling under the darkness the Moon is hovering like a bulb for heads to bow underneath avoiding smacking against the dim light of muted discourse must not say it must not say how upset it all makes all of it feel meaning meaning what meaning is for meaning rushing from the Sun slowing down crawling under the darkness the Moon is hovering like a bulb for heads to bow underneath avoiding smacking against the dim light of muted discourse must not say it must not say how upset it all makes all of it feel those lines on the side those lines look like a bird made out of bent neighborhoods made out of lines thick with ruined water put this hand around the neck of that cup emptied of people their blood coloring the walls between sides where the grumbling mixes in the metal hall that rings with the shrillness of life twisting nipples turning down the volume as the train passes alongside the lines of the track quickly coming to a halt in the dirt.

When did the city stop making noise?
When did the city stop making silence?
When did the shit that flows in its veins
stop and start again
to the rhythm of ulterior motives
stop and start again 
stop and start again
stop
and start 
again

Nuance was his name changed from something in the past don't exactly know how long ago Nuance took up the cause of so much nothing to be concerned about elevators stop on every floor there is between buildings the trees flat inside the pages of wind what happened when did it come about that Nuance was his name changed from her name his name changed her name pinching lips despising all the doors in her miserable life he and he and he and he kept showing up go away not you not her not her not not not tying one on nothing to be concerned about elevators and their buttons to open eyes on another day another floor another level to interpret when it was the weight of the top falling through on its way to where she was showing him when things fell through her name pinching lips despising all the doors in her miserable life he and he and he and he kept showing up go away.

Move your mouth just might hear something like no you don't have to open your mouth don't want this frustration getting on that tongue of yours tried to learn watched a couple of mouths in my time this time more like less like it is more like less like and meaning meaning what meaning is for meaning rushing from the Sun slowing down crawling under the darkness the Moon is hovering like a bulb for heads to bow underneath avoiding smacking against the dim light of muted discourse suck it up suck up the tears and snot high back up behind the eyes where all that is seen is the absence of nothing to be concerned about where the desert is being expanded in the backyard of your eyes dry dry eyes.

Open up.
That's what I've been told.
Don't miss out when now is the time of your readiness.
So you have informed me.
Me?  This is that rare occasion the opportunity has presented itself.
Not really.  You've tried to talk me into it about 6 or 7 times.
That can't be.
Actually it was more like 8 or 9 times.
You are confusing me with the other guy.
The one with the jacked up skin condition under his right eye?
The other other guy the one with the bike with both tires deflated.
You mean the twit with the bike up his ass.
He's pretending to ride the bike.
It's up his ass.
I don't know what to say to that really.  You'd think with all the clutter that you'd reach a point in your life where you'd finally have enough of drawing blanks in your mind.  
If he wasn't dead, I'd tell him to go fuck himself.
It's all the lost interest I tell you.  You get tired of the conversations with yourself when they end up just being rehearsals for manslaughter.  Is that any way to try to break one's leash?  You're better off dropping your snout into the dirt and watch your chain slide down the pole of activity and existence for a stalemate.  
The key word is mate until she told me to open up and tried to get me to choke on the rest of the world.
Mine gave up on me and rightly so.  She would place those hands of hers on this face of mine the one with the cracks chiseled deep with obstinacy and she had lost interest long ago in openings long ago.  She was vainly trying to lower my head away from the glare of the lights in the sky and space and buildings and machines and see the shadows she and I cast on the ground and the spike sticking out of the Earth and how for all its swaying it comes back to the center with all my struggling.  Those hands of hers.  The key word for me is stale.  Life only amounts to what gets into and crawls out of cabinets.
I think you're confusing me and her with someone else.
I wouldn't doubt it.

Rushing from the Sun slowing down crawling under the darkness the Moon is hovering like a bulb for heads to bow underneath avoiding smacking against the dim light of muted discourse must not say it must not say how upset it all makes all of it feel those lines on the side those lines look like a bird made out of bent neighborhoods made out of lines thick with ruined water put this hand around the neck of that cup emptied of people.


- Max Stoltenberg