BRANCHING IN

Not that it mattered much, but the news of their deterioration has been mostly acting as if it is attempting to mimic some version or variation I am he was she still is waiting for her sister to get back with an answer on which one is more appropriate to use and steering back off of the shoulder one of the slumped ones weighted down by insecurity reproducing itself into a world of more and more and smaller and smaller compartments and yet not a wall remains left I feel the little partitions the tiny slots dropping to the floor of my gelatinous brain hitting the floor and bouncing around under the desk shoved in my head-space to collect dust tangled in there as if it is attempting to mimic some version some variation some kind of I have forgotten see how it works maybe you do and maybe they do instead of you the crowd turning about in their mass graves of order submitting online whose orders names and digits can't seem to remember past the fourth one the column that leads down into the yard underneath the weeds and in the beds of slithering insomniacs as if attempting to mimic some kind of version of the next permutation guessing at the next repetition steering back off of the shoulder that vibrating between your disks between your pages of gibberish and she sat up and gave herself another excuse not to tell him what she really thought of him and as a result her shape of things to come spluttered and dribbled out of mute animals quiet except for the slithering of life decreasing as she went to the fence and stopped to answer her phone.

"What took you so long? How does it feel to hear me say it? Where's my food man? Man? Pinched loaf of half-assery? What does it sound like? What am I going to leave out next? When? When am I going to leave? How will it depend? Did you want to hear a story about my father and his sympathizers? His trail of followers through the pipes the tubes? Out? Down? Into shopping carts with the wheel remember? Have you ever felt so much heat coming down off of such grey fucking clouds? How dry am I? How many guesses should I give you? How many chances? How many phones?"

Her hand tilted and the phone slid slightly towards the edge of her palm where the fingers began where they got together and pretended they could roll dice and solve problems collaboratively he liked that or pretended the best the most effectively to keep us showing our stuff to keep us. So much broken glass and still hanging back to see if that jar will ever hit the floor throw? throw what? the cement is coming for me and all my doubts the cement is coming for me. 


- Max Stoltenberg