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Where had that thing that they were going to discuss say gone off to? Tell you them to their face faces somebody threw them their faces against the wall next to the glass the glass window and watched them slide down most of the day and almost all night haven't even made it halfway down the wall don't know where the halfway mark is very certain about the halfway mark in their faces could always see that with their being so half-assed and now we're getting that red line underneath part of what we see and it's distracting us from the verses about the drowning in something or other that's been defecated triangles with shaved heads in the corners examining the morose toenails dragging along the floors of downcast closets threading the talks between lenses where had that thing that they were going to discuss say gone off to? Tell you them to their face faces somebody threw them their faces against the wall next to the glass the glass window and watched them slide down most of the day and almost all night haven't even made it halfway down the wall don't know where the halfway mark is very certain about the halfway mark in their faces could always see that with their being so half-assed and now we're getting that red line underneath part of what we see surrounding the painting of the reeking bed in darker shades of nightmares sinking into the folds of the soiled sheets their being.
Their being said whatever came to their minds in this place this place that is one not too generously measured off garbage disposal jammed until another one opens their mouth running a sharp observation around the rim of our lowered expectations falling down further into our guts smothered with more to do with less returning to the shitter just came from there left prematurely into the rest of the world as usual. The animals are getting up before we ask each other where we've been where they've gone that they were going to discuss say that thing that they were going to discuss gone off to?
Don't quite follow you
and never been one
not to follow
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Putting some things together."
"What things?"
"Birth and death."
"What are you talking about?"
"Or at least a little closer together."
"Are you intending what I think you're intending?"
"Thoughts and actions."
"Just come back into the break room."
"My therapist said neurotics have a major disconnect between their thoughts and their actions."
"I'll get you something from the snack machine."
"I thought you didn't have any money."
"The snack machine has a debit card reader now."
"I thought you didn't have any money in your bank account at all."
"Just not until after the next 3 paychecks that's all."
"And so I'm plugging those cables into each other."
"4 paychecks then I'm back to about base."
"Let go of my arm."
"Ground dirt level."
"Let go of my left arm if there was any confusion in that congested knuckle head of yours."
"Fine go."
Don't quite follow you
and never been one
not to follow
nasty ink of the asshole
gets on everything
standing in the doorway
of the same thing
over and over
and over
teacher said teacher said
and now
closing it behind me
a last kick
into my internal mess
sends me in the direction
of her bones
in the grave
"Did you hear me?"
"I did."
"Then go."
"I did just mentally it was practice."
"Go physically if that's what you really want. Plug your cables into each other. Go fuck yourself."
"I thought I was already doing that just by being here."
"It's really hot out there."
"I know."
"It burns your skin out there."
"I know what a desert does you ulcerated idiot. That's why I'm going."
"There's no water out there."
"I'm sick of the water in here."
"I've vomited twice today."
"I mean I'm sick of the water in here in my body."
"Twice is below average for me."
"I'm prolonging this and I know why."
"Because of my crafty argumentation?"
"No."
"Because they keep making you add more letters to the end of your name?"
"That's actually part of it, but no. I just find myself glancing out into that vast waste behind our complex and dreading how long it will take."
"Then come back in and do it some quicker way."
"They've taken all the sharp office supplies."
"I still manage to hurt myself."
"As do I just not mortally."
"You'd think with all the radios playing different channels at the same time that would be enough to send one over the edge."
"It was when they were all set to the same one that I thought did it, but now I can add another reason why I took so long to off myself to the list."
"You just reminded me that I haven't finished that report for Ruckus in Post-Human Resources."
"Will you shut the hell up?! Shit, working in a prison has to be the most literal fucked up metaphor there is."
"You're just realizing that now?"
"It comes back to me every so often along with the chest pains and the spasms in my thumb muscle."
"I get that as well the thumb muscle thing that is."
"All the desert is good for is drying out our dirty laundry."
"It's the little things in life."
"And a dry red wine sloshes around all that baggage back to life."
"My ex and I would fight over which one of us had to turn all the shirts right side out when folding and putting the clothes away."
"I thought there were all the infidelities that was the culprit."
"The culprit was that she couldn't take her shirts off like a normal human being and then we had to fight about it and that led to us disagreeing about all the other horseshit."
"They haven't taken the staple removers. I could use that, but it's a matter of them finding me at my desk and all that. I prefer the idea of doing the erasing myself at least the rest of it."
"It's the little things in life."
"Then there are all the checkpoints."
"I'm giving it until our conversations start sounding like those recorded phone calls that are programmed to sound like a person responding to what you say. That's what'll do it for me."
"Perhaps I'll wait till after work."
"They have checkpoints in your neighborhood."
"They're not in effect until about an hour after my shift. That gives me about a 15 minute window to get to the edge."
"What if they make you stay over?"
"It'll have to be next week then."
"Next week?"
"Next week, definitely."
Their being said whatever came to their minds in this place this place that is one not too generously measured off garbage disposal jammed until another one opens their mouth running a sharp observation around the rim of our lowered expectations falling down further into our guts smothered with more to do with less returning to the shitter just came from there left prematurely into the rest of the world as usual. The animals are getting up before we ask each other where we've been where they've gone that they were going to discuss say that thing that they were going to discuss gone off to?
- Max Stoltenberg
"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
He'd say to her nothing it wouldn't arise it would feel like it was filling and then it wouldn't fill it wouldn't feel it wouldn't even think it it he'd say to her nothing and she would disappear one part at a time she'd force herself to play a part be a part a part and part herself and part he'd object and then sit there on the edge of what was her name couldn't hold numbers let alone letters let alone his toes rejected the carpet shaved to stretch as wide as the room needed to shut him into his narrow space between each care surrendering to the blankness of the present shrinking in the midst of the bickering parents of the past and the future they were still here and still now what the fuck difference did it make had they made in his tiny little shaft of a muddled statement dripping with wasted ejaculations he would
severance a new middle name
don't surname me
crumbs and petty looks
falling off the clouded reasoning
torn from angry fucks
knots in your reproductive ideas
and that's all they ended up
not being useful to smoke
rolled up into carbon paper
for burning into dying flowers
dirty water reprocessed by eyes
blinking blinking chicken
in plastic trays dealing out the
cards unsigned unsent undying
pathetic veins of reminding wipers
rubbing ears flapping vision
into distorted phone calls
think we heard enough
before another one is started
late has arrived the hand
held up to stop it
stop some of it
none of it
all of it
carries on
into the next searing day
fucking food food fucking us deep inside shit it out and call it a devouring some shit we augment only in this way ingredients for the factory minimized and shoved up our ass deep inside our reticence an itinerary for inertia loaded with crap crap cakes frosted with memories of times when recalled dragged out by nightmares and substitutions put in at the last few minutes of darkness before the glare of waking hours slapped us back onto the stage with stiff limbs for tripping over each other repeating unnecessary efforts for numbers for letters she would disappear one part at a time she'd force herself to play a part be a part a part and part herself and part he'd object and then sit there on the edge of what was her name couldn't hold numbers let alone letters let alone his toes rejected the carpet shaved to stretch as wide as the room needed to shut him into his narrow space between each care surrendering to the blankness of the present shrinking in the midst of the bickering parents of the past and the future they were still here and still now what the fuck difference did it make had they made in his tiny little shaft of a muddled statement dripping with wasted ejaculations he would
"Where did you get those?" she asked as she helped her children into the back of her minivan.
"Where did I get these?" he asked as the hot wind blew a note he had written directions on off towards the wash full of trash, weeds, and the excretions of the desert.
"Those are the blue ones. Where did you get those?" she asked closing the back door.
"I think I got them at the place right behind over there in the front along the main strip toward the back," he spoke as his mouth was somewhere else abandoning his mind that emptied of every place he had ever been.
"I don't think so. You probably got the blue ones at the end of that row around the other side. Know what I'm talking about? Never mind," she said turning the ignition and speeding away.
He looked toward the wash to see where the note might have gone where the directions might have blown off to as he walked around the back of the large metal containers and stopped as he reached the edge of the road looking down at where the dirt and sidewalk ended sort of ended and began tugging at the spiked tumbleweed stuck to his left pants leg had some gotten into his sock other sock?
Eyes opened and closed and opened at the smell of bugs and sounds of tuna fish squishing as the head moved around inside or was that paper ripped out of a hand out there outside the dark in here cans surrounded the head listening for the evening of the next darkness to catch up with the dark in here always in here opened or closed eyes opened and closed and opened at the smell of bugs and sounds of tuna fish squishing as the head moved around inside or was that paper ripped out of a hand out there outside the dark in here cans surrounded the head listening for the evening of the next darkness to catch up with the dark in here always.
- Max Stoltenberg
I am at a loss I don't know what to say I know exactly what to say and that is my downfall again the problem is that my downfall never takes me down far enough where I can't get back up stay down paint yourself a shade of the weeds and stand among them the weeds. Crazy going crazy crazy not going anywhere crazy going in circles crazy going in squares rectangles long thin rectangles hallways corridors of crazy couldn't sit there with him across the desk from him looking at me running out of things to draw to my attention his attention running out of things to draw my attention to his attention had to put them together you might have heard of them put them together things together and they lead right into a hole red with brown shitty smiles of forced entry the door and they don't fucking like the look you give them all day long as they pass by your door waving themselves around like the weeds they are poking their crass existence out of the ground why get back up why stay down to paint yourself a shade of the weeds and stand among them squat among them running out of things to draw my attention to his attention had to put them together you might have heard of them put them together things together and they lead right into a hole red with brown shitty smiles of forced entry the door and they don't fucking like the look you give them
as the stream pauses
in the desert of blank steps
leading up down to empty
expectations is it
was it is it hide and
don't look at her while
while she all the while
that's not right
it doesn't end right
it doesn't end
clicked on the wrong space
as the stream pauses
in the desert of blank steps
leading up down to empty
expectations is it
was it is it hide and
don't
just don't
a princess
where did that come from?
where did she come from?
she the that that came in
from
where?
"I never discovered much," said the ex-girlfriend.
"How could you?" said the ex-salesman.
"How could I? I never discovered much looking away."
"I used to be a salesman until I took a hockey puck to the brain permanently damaged my sense of deception tragic end to a profitable ruse."
"When were you ever near anything frozen?"
"Before the desert everything was frozen and after the desert I'm the one who is frozen in my tracks."
"I prostrate like a sloth at the narthex of your bunions."
"In suicide I got an incomplete."
"My eyes hurt again the back of my eyes maybe all of my head except my eyes hurt up to where my eyes start in the back up to the pupils this same shit every day crawls in through the windows and tumbles into my mind and just stays and never leaves even if I burned it down the charred shit would still be there melted into the foundation and the fucking Earth takes its nauseous time chewing and swallowing."
"Turn and face the wall."
"Only if you have an actual weapon this time and I have a nasty mess on the wall I can look at before you pull the trigger."
"Trigger? Did you say trigger?"
"You didn't find something with a trigger did you?"
"Well, no."
"Figures, unless you have a blunt instrument."
"I haven't been very in favor of using a blunt instrument."
"Why not?"
"I'd have to hit you several times with my lousy upper body business and all that. I'd just be repeating myself and I might get you pissed off enough who knows what I could become next."
"You think I'd risk smashing your asshat and have you be a slimy salesman again?"
"That's a myth you know."
"Your whole life has been a myth."
"No I mean a blow to the head would make me go back to what I used to be."
"I know what you mean it was an expression I was using and the top of your head is your ass."
"That would explain why I've been trying for years to take a strong enough shit and empty out everything between my ears."
Noiseless the swamp
of rubbing my face to get the debris
from these dreams in the stinging daylight
off the sill of these eyes
putting the boxes away
until their contents go bad
tense bravado stains the mask
lifting up the garage door
delivered by hand
to the roof of her mouth
she rolls her vision up into her head
as a man leaves deep knife marks
in her no-stick bowl
the color is divided
more contents to go bad
noiseless the swamp
- Max Stoltenberg
I build a prison below the ground every day so that when the earth the dirt that is caves in into the cave this cave another layer will pile on top of the layers that are already there still there after the ones have crumbled away from the talking with the other prisoners the other things that walk around having come out of their corners their boxes having doffed their lids so officious it makes one puke the dirt that is it hardens into another layer will pile on top of the layers that are already there still there after the ones have crumbled away from the talking with the other prisoners the other things that walk around having come out of their corners their boxes having doffed their lids so officious it makes one puke the dirt that is it hardens into another layer of a prison I build a prison below the ground every day so that when the earth the dirt that is caves in into the cave this cave.
Must have erased it by mistake and the floors disappeared into the desert that could be why everything is so close to the street the only front yards we have are the 3 feet of bullshit we tell ourselves to keep each other at bay shackled strangers put away put it away no one is interested sounded like you sounded like me sounded like they got it from you sounded like you got it from them could be could be nothing must be.
"She's complaining in there again."
"Who?"
"She goes in there every morning to complain. Sometimes she goes right into complaining and other times it's the other times where she goes in there and ends up complaining."
"The other times?"
"Yeah she goes in there as if complaining is the last thing she'd ever think of going in there to do. She goes in there as if she actually intended to you know relate or something or mention something even esoteric or meaningless or useless or meaningless."
"Or esoteric?"
"No it's between the last two. I've narrowed it down to them."
"You've ruled out the esoteric and the relating and the something."
"Balsamic vinegar."
"You didn't say anything about balsamic vinegar."
"One never can know about leaving out what they might have unknowingly ruled out."
"No wonder you have insomnia."
"Someone will always bring up some little shit I didn't bring up."
"And that's how you shove off the esoteric and the relating to the gutter."
"They form their cliques along the sidelines and exchange their gutter talk."
"And what about something?"
"Something? Something."
"You're reconsidering."
"Something is crap that has been labeled annoying."
"Are you going to fill out the survey?"
"How long have we been in this room?"
"Years."
"How many years?"
"I've lost track."
"Lost track have you? So have I. That's what happens when we get our subjectivity packed nice and tight into a closed space. Fill out a survey my ass."
"We lost our progress again."
Fuck something sometimes sometimes the index index finger wants to dig in the corner there is a hole in the corner of the eye to dig it out and work on the other one sometime later work on the other one that will sometimes become the only one left all these eyes entering into detention to see more of the same as they hand each other kaleidoscopes twisting their vision into being intrigued with sights that divide and spin into mirrors of each other of each other of each other face them and bow to them and face them fuck them fuck something sometimes sometimes the index index finger wants to dig in the corner there is a hole in the corner of the eye to dig it out and work on the other one sometimes later work on the other one that will sometimes become the only one left all these eyes entering into detention.
"What do you get now?"
"5."
"How do you get 5?"
"I knew you were going to ask that."
"Of course you knew. I always do ask."
"I did want to be wrong."
"You don't like to be wrong."
"I try not to care but I get that wrong as well. That's the thing about being wrong a lot it kind of likes to expand branch out and spread its things all over the place all over your stuff my stuff."
"What do you get now? Still 5?"
"She got her coat caught in her office chair."
"Who?"
"And one of the strings in the lining of her coat the string that you pull on to tighten the coat."
"I know what the string does."
"When it gets cold not that it gets that cold in the desert I think she wears it because it makes her think of being somewhere she'd rather be."
"Who's she?"
"I'm on a tangent I know but nowadays the things that connect to each other or don't really connect are the tangents just want to get the puzzle done one color matching forget it's there taking up space on the table until we spill something on it."
"Is this the one who was complaining in there earlier?"
"She's still in there complaining in there. No this is someone else. I help her get the knot out of the string that's wrapped around the wheel of her office chair several times turn turn turn around around around."
"I get it."
"I help her get that fucking knot out and unwrap the string and free her coat and as I set it back in place on the back of her office chair all the shit in her pockets cascades all over the floor. And she's saying it's OK it's OK. No it's not OK."
"What did you want her to say?"
"I don't know just not that it's OK."
"Who does she remind you of?"
"The one who's in there complaining or the one who got her coat caught in her office chair?"
"She reminds you of your mother."
"No."
"She reminds you of your father."
"No."
"Who then?"
"She reminds me of the mountains I see far off in the distance on the edge of the desert that I contemplate throwing myself off of and they look at me from the distance as if to say it's OK it's OK you amusing little man."
"And the one complaining in there?"
"Who gives a fuck. I would have preferred her to say something more like that's how it had to end that's what had to follow huh?"
"That wouldn't be nicer to say."
"You're not listening are you? It's the huh? A tiny huh? I've always hated the way others have said it, but if she had said it and with a question mark that no one else has ever used would have made all the difference and she didn't so never mind how could she have known I'm finding these things out now that do me no good now that's the rest of time it is now or now-ish."
I build a prison below the ground every day so that when the earth the dirt that is caves in into the cave this cave another layer will pile on top of the layers that are already there still there after the ones have crumbled away from the talking with the other prisoners the other things that walk around having come out of their corners their boxes having doffed their lids so officious it makes one puke the dirt that is it hardens into another layer will pile on top of the layers that are already there still there after the ones have crumbled away from the talking with the other prisoners the other things that walk around having come out of their corners their boxes having doffed their lids so officious it makes one puke the dirt that is it hardens into another layer of a prison I build a prison below the ground every day so that when the earth the dirt that is caves in into the cave this cave.
- Max Stoltenberg
The difference between large and larger is how much pain I inflict on myself the difference between small and smaller is how much I avoid keep my hands still and watch them both come down again and again they like to show it with an a cappella chorus of "Oh, shit!" The workbooks were used with all the answers in them 9 out of 10 problems 8 out of 10 problems 7 out of 10 why did I get these? phony ketchup nowadays chocolate syrup missed the milk went bad anyway missed the chunks that hit the nostrils swish for a nausea riding a dead cow manure on the panel trying to get the last word in before the commercial dropping something in the kitchen smearing the black syrup car leaking into the house on the neighborhood plenty of complaints making paper pushing it simple enough to have a complex my very own slice of the run over animal ran over walked as slow as I could to drag it out my showing up in this life is contingent on my making it for the last 5 minutes.
"505 to 506."
"Go ahead."
"505 to 506."
"Go ahead."
"Disregard."
The nanny idea was aborted not in time anyway sweat vaporized into the already hot air didn't want to say say to this look anything about her face reflected in her face this look anything about this say to this to say say to this didn't want to say didn't want hot air already your water is boiling the bottom the underside of the cabinets steamed up about things things having to do or not having to do with the nanny idea was aborted not in time tried to what negotiate? was that what it was legs folded under her face reflected in her face folded into the couch what do they call that what do they call this in her face this?
Eyes close into each other pressed into the top of a fist leaning on a fist for broken friendship is that what this was what they call it? Was it did we call it friendship is that what it was? Whatever it was we called it broken used that a lot broken this broken that broken people they complained about them but liked them that way easier to open and have other holes to poke and fill with themselves intersubjectivity my ass he dumped some of the pills but took enough enough to rid himself of the disease of life eyes close into each other pressed into the top of a fist leaning on a fist for broken friendship left out a letter omitted a response the one where it becomes apparent that it doesn't matter which is left out took enough to rid herself of just a fraction enough for a theme that tears everything apart enough enough to penetrate and separate her a little more a lot more eyes close into each other.
"505 to 506."
"Go ahead."
"505 to 506."
"Go ahead."
"Disregard."
He called to him to come out of hiding what to talk about who knew he called to him and there were the usual excuses bailing out this loved one and that not so loved one looking up backgrounds and the interruptions of viruses. Can't put her back together anymore she'll just have to do it herself no points no weapons lose everything with each death died so frequently moving around has lost its blur for a sharpness a definition high with manic clarity walked briefly across a bridge between tabs until one closed and fell through my head as the voice inside split across the brain into tomorrow and yesterday these hands have become useless can't even rip junk mail not even a beginning cut following the causality to the lower levels of others only between is where they lead to the spaces of their avoiding me walk away and follow closely behind them or pretend to sniff behind their ankles heels just heels lifting them out of what they stepped in leaving what they're leaving more gaps for me to pause and forget and hesitate to answer hesitate to act gaps and the interruptions of viruses.
"Are you ignoring me?"
"You're jumping to conclusions."
"I like jumping to conclusions. It's the only exercise I get these days."
"When I was a child and my parents would take me to visit my cousins they had one of those upright pianos against the wall and under a picture that was very grey and looked like a boardwalk that appeared to go to the edge of the ocean except that there was nothing beyond the boardwalk no sea no sky just grey it almost matched the boardwalk except there was enough contrast in the boardwalk just enough to let you know there was nothing after the last step nothing and I would lift the lid on the piano and I would make up notes and press them softly and wait to listen to them fade into nothing until one of the adults would come up behind me and say, I think we've had enough. I would sit there with my ears burning with the dissonance of silence and their words echoing in it and banging against it and pivot on that bench and swing my legs around to walk back along the boardwalk into the never enough that held my hesitation in place between the planks of every return trip."
The difference between large and larger is how much pain I inflict on myself the difference between small and smaller is how much I avoid keep my hands still and watch them both come down again and again they like to show it with an a cappella chorus of "Oh, shit!" The workbooks were used with all the answers in them 9 out of 10 problems 8 out of 10 problems 7 out of 10 why did I get these? phony ketchup nowadays chocolate syrup missed the milk went bad anyway missed the chunks that hit the nostrils swish for a nausea riding a dead cow manure on the panel trying to get the last word in before the commercial dropping something in the kitchen smearing the black syrup car leaking into the house on the neighborhood plenty of complaints making paper pushing it simple enough to have a complex my very own slice of the run over animal ran over walked as slow as I could to drag it out my showing up in this life is contingent on my making it for the last 5 minutes.
- Max Stoltenberg
The hammer was on the ground next to a grave that had been dug with the back end of it. The digger sat down next to an empty cardboard box looking around it to see if the hammer was still there and waited for the stomach pain to subside. And the stomach pain continued on in keeping with its resolve. The things remained where they were unless rubbed by the weather until more choices among them the choices of words stirred them up into an internal dance of motionlessness.
arrows do not actually move
tell the hearts they pierce
that
with all the moving around
of which parts matter
at the time of entry
we leave them alone
and bother each other
instead
nothing moves
not really
after all the collisions
spaces for the margins
of existence
poetry retreats
from the margins of books
Get up get up get out of there it's not that deep I regret having said hello again and again during those earlier times I saw you I see you now I see your predicament and now I am blind I've lost my sense of the dimensions I should talk right maybe I shouldn't as the dimensions come pooling back shitting out like diarrhea in the dark corner of my mind goodbye says shut the fuck up while the marks of getting up and getting out wander away into it out of it get up get up get out of there it's not that deep I regret having said having said having anything at all said ripped from the room whipped like a plaque stuck the wall of forgotten expiration dating matched paired up like tangled cord behind and under the desk where asses bang heads into fake wood screwed together adhering to nonsense having nonsense come out with the afterbirth after it was too late out in the open where tree branches drop leaves coming a long way for bark cold bark of smelling the cut of hurt thumbs part to push up the wound bulging with ignored questions they're they're going on to something else too late out in the open where tree branches drop leaves coming a long way for bark cold bark.
"I can't remember what we were we talking about?"
"You're doing this again because you don't want to discuss it."
"How can I? All I get is did it have to do with I'm not even getting that."
"Are you seriously going to swipe everything off the counter of our conversation and into the hole of your coma?"
"No no I'm not. This is the coma."
"Do something else with your arm like getting it stuck in a lathe?"
"I don't know what I've been drinking."
"The house is surrounded."
"House?"
"The building the building is surrounded."
"Someone is going out to talk to them."
"You don't have to do this."
"What? Make shit up?"
"No I mean go out to talk to them."
"I wasn't going to go out to talk to them."
"I'm asking you to reconsider in short this could be this is an opportunity to be the roundabout in the circular argument that can finally be employed to bolster the weaker passages through the woods through the nothing but arid spaces you know you've always known what needs to be said to them now go I'm asking you to reconsider."
"Being employed isn't what it used to be."
"Now you're just making excuses. It's understandable you have your doubts and what day like today that arrives at last today on this today without it being put off until today without doubts?"
"What I'm getting at is that that someone is already wrapping up out there."
"You've missed it I tell you a bonehead for chiseling at the hands of the mob. You had your chance the chance and allowed the thin conduit available to you to them to fill with dirt desert dirt."
"Wasn't I the one who said existence is the narrow course between the runs and constipation?"
"That was said by the woman in the camouflage shorts in that awful joke you told the night you couldn't stop vomiting."
"So I did say it."
"You claimed it was inspired by some friend of yours who shared a similar joke that was actually quite different and even more tasteless with its gory details of old lady bridge players interrupting their bidding and play from the dummy with the presentation of sex organs found stuffed in brass instruments."
"I don't find your line of reasoning persuasive in the least. A slathering of the macabre is no different than the surgical mask covering a physician's alternating smirks and expressions of disgust."
"You had your shot."
"We keep changing the angle and missing a vein."
We've been out of the woods for too long and look for a canopy in the waste the quench has lost its way in the back of our throats to trip over itself and cough we choke ourselves into tears without the emptying of a sorrow that never comes only escapes with our euphemisms and chairs stacked in the back of our minds standing with our faces turned away from the table under the cracked glass spilling unpleasing water trickling towards a smashed bug its surface tension cannot lift its crushed its crushed while all the while we've been out of the woods for too long and look for a canopy in the waste.
- Max Stoltenberg
