Sunday, June 7, 2015


"Have you tried this one?" Plug asked pointing at the door he was approaching on the right. "Yes, I tried that one," answered Trench in a tired manner as he looked back down the dark corridor. Plug reached for the door handle as Trench commented, "You're going to try it anyway, aren't you?" Plug shook the door handle and opened his hand in a pathetic effort to untouch and undo his action. He said, "What?" "You didn't believe me did you?" declared Trench who continued down the corridor and around a corner disappearing from Plug's view as his voice echoed, "I told you already all the doors behind us I have tried." "What if we're going in circles?" asked Plug. "Squares," said Trench trying another door handle that did not open yet another door, "If we're revisiting parts of the building which we are not then we would be going in squares since none of the corridors have curved as far as I can tell. Have you noticed any curving?" "Only when I look out the edges do the corridors look like they're curving," said Plug moving his eyes back and forth. "Edges?" asked Trench speeding up as he noticed another door and then slowing down with anticipated discouragement. "Edges of my spectacles," explained Plug.

Plug turned the corner not the corner mentioned above but the next one after that actually two after the next one and by that next one the one after next actually one after that. Plug thought to himself about why he bothered to keep up with Trench at all until he caught up with him and saw that he was leaning against one of the walls and sliding his back down to sit on the floor. "What are we doing?" asked Plug sitting down next to Trench who responded, "We're pausing." "I know but that's not what I was inquiring about," said Plug. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay on this level of inquiry," said Trench moving his knees together and apart. 

No it's not all the same to me
This dry ocean of cranky
after taste and second guessed 
worries and insecurities
stirred with others' blinks
wary of elevator copulation
up the shaft 
to the basement 
underneath her abandonment
or was it his?

"Was that a poem?" asked Trench moving his knees together and opening the right corner of his mouth thus smashing the eye above it shut. "What poem?" asked Plug continuing, "I usually don't know what to say when someone doesn't want to accompany me on moving up a level of inquiry." "Well I heard a fucking poem just now," insisted Trench. "Certainly not on the outside of your head," said Plug patting his shirt. "Wary of . . ." began Trench. "I'm not wary of anything but your sanity if you must know," said Plug continuing, "Plug." "Why do you do that?" asked Trench looking at Plug patting his shirt. "It feels like I have a spider under my shirt. Did you notice all the cobwebs back there?" said Plug. "Why do you say your name every so often?" inquired Trench. "To remind myself about blank," said Plug. "Blank? You're not doing it to remember what your name is? You've forgotten just about everything else that matters," said Trench. "Could be. We'll just say that's what it is this time," said Plug. 

And they remained paused there corners losing and regaining their turn in the sequence sequences that gave way to other patterns exhumed in their minds and as each of them nodded off and on Trench thought to himself as if he could think to someone else although how had Plug managed to think to him earlier he could deny it all he wanted he had replied to him in the form of a poem stacked the phrases had been wary of elevator blank what would they say it is this time was this time as they he knew they both did it all right he knew he at least did that they thought to themselves told themselves that their dirty laundry was behind one of these doors and as the sound of metal echoed in his brain he could see the stains left behind by his father's car that he continued to wait to pull back into the garage any time now as saw the detergent spill all over the top of the dryer and down between the machines he tried to joke away the anger's palpableness being joined by the sound of an arriving engine only to hear the terrifying quiet and his thoughts slipping between the machines.

- Max Stoltenberg

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