He lay in bed looking as if he might fall out spotted by no one but the thud laying there sweaty exhaling the dust into the legs of the nightstand stumpy dusty corner legs who doesn't have their headphones in? who is that? report them to me before they let their noise disrupt what half of my ass I have left to give to the day. Correction, report them to him I get carried away when it looks as though he's had an accident and won't be stirring about the pot not from the night before not too long before less than a couple of hours actually but stirring the pot with so much sticking to the sides we'll be headed for another collision sooner than we think suppose it'll get stuck in our throats and make us cough that way we did at one of those parties long ago when they asked us to leave not because of the cough mind you but all the other stuff that gets caught in one's throat and makes it difficult to carry on a conversation or face the scrutiny of those too impatient for the delayed ends of sentences.
"How is it?"
"It's OK I guess."
"No, not that good really more of a resemblance of all the other disappointments throughout this I guess you could call it what would you call it?"
"Is that what you'd call it?"
"More like when you try to get candy out of a box and someone has pushed the tab in."
"I feel as though I've been given a tremendous lack of opportunity to do what I do almost somewhat adequately."
"Are you going to try some more?"
"They used to always say before you go in to have a list."
"A To Do list?"
"More a list of questions to ask, but I never could think of any. Think of what to ask so few words from loud towering people. Guess that's why I would spend so much time looking up at tall abandoned buildings. Only then they could overshadow so few words and such long silences."
"Do you think art is what drops off the conveyor belt or what stays on it or both?"
"Whatever gets caught in the gears or none of the above."
Water that makes up
most of her
long hair returning
about to be cut
not as much this time
this time this wretch
before a break
from the disturbed sleep
turning on the fan
unplugged from the wall
the wall blocking out
replicas of your insecurities
turning on you
- Max Stoltenberg