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It was hanging out
Smearing between two sides of the issue
Not that it would issue
forth or down
He was distracted by the high-pitched squealing alarm his world was a chamber of notifications that wouldn't leave him alone. Echoing words from the past reminders of failure and no response he rarely had a response to the dismissive statements made by the hosts and the guests their generosity was hollowed out emptiness pushed out what he had taken from it if anything.
Had the van returned the dogs barked but they could be doing that to each other barking at vans they thought the others were barking at filling the narrow margins with shit opinions that had nowhere to go. How long did he have to wait that time the dog found something in the corner the deep hole that exposed a nail from the house being built next door or the one of his own that was losing theirs it would only be a matter of time pieces of time fractions of moments slipping off and between the fingers that picked at themselves removing rings of connection and instructions replaced and ignored.
He overheard their conversation on the other side of the wall something about a transaction and misunderstanding. A high pitched voice wanted to vent and tell a story of others not listening to their advice medical and otherwise. It was interspersed with a low toned humming responding out of obligation and a growing groaning attempt to encourage a conclusion.
- Max Stoltenberg
It could have must have been a candle the lump on the table now mostly stuck under my thumbnail a racing thought in my chance to be an erasure suddenly he took her for an assumption cursed chap though he was.
though he was
It could have must have been a candle the lump on the head rubbed by this hand her hand she put it behind her put him in her thoughts because it was expected of her in an analogy that they had another website for with photos categorized by that particular position making organs stiffen, but hold back their utterances at the last moment at the first one once they convened for a meaningless gathering after he tumbled in his fashion watching him spin around in the window what the fuck had happened to outside?
though she was
To the breeze that once made her easier to remember tilting his head back and snuffing the pen extinguishing the voice knocking ashes off that meal a supper under the roof that bulged down with contempt strung along with bulbs cloudy from forgetfulness stapled together with swathes of distraction measly misspelled expressions wheezed into a cardboard toilet paper roll stemming from an earful of regret over lips never seen again image but a conjured failure categorized by that particular position making organs stiffen, but hold back their utterances at the last moment at the first one once they convened for a meaningless gathering after he tumbled in his fashion watching him spin around in the window what the fuck has happened to outside?
- Max Stoltenberg
She stressed to him the lack of importance they both held together she more so than he. He felt his objections filling up his throat not very high not high enough to reach the fill line of his caring to speak. He stared off into the half of the wasteland she was walking away from wandering into her loneliness her isolation.
She didn't know exactly how long it had been that she had been walking wandering scraping her boots with more holes than the last time she had poked her fingers through them. Each of the holes she had imagined a passage into another time another neighborhood that she imagined was a empty as the previous previous that expression was closing in on how little meaning she felt for what was on both sides of her cavities.
Her phone was lost for who knows how much time she relied on it to tell her until the battery ran out and she no longer had any where to plug anything into anything reminding her to get up. She got up all right and he was the reason his arguments his lack thereof his look of almost saying almost thinking even he was such an even man even now evening out the darkness. She was done. She had said that. And now her loneliness welcomed her back or reminded her it was with her all along. Nothing to tell her the time beyond that and it was there was still day the Sun and its merciless frying of your comfort of what to do next. It was like the flames from millions of miles away were telling her to let that go as well. She came to a patch of cement cracked. Maybe it had been a square of a path that surrounded a pool or a park or a house filled with rooms filled with the familiar obstinate misunderstanding.
- Max Stoltenberg
