Face typeOctober 14, 2009

It’s true what they saybut that’s not why they say itor if it is, then it is the saying itthat only makes it true for youwho repeat it to yourselfwhile you wait for what you thinkis the metro, but is really something else:

Rapid transportation, shuttling betweencommuting your own sentencesagainst the silence of these still morningswithout much to do but rub at the windowsbark back at distant dogsand try to remember what names wereeven before the things they namehad a reason to be invented

and committing your skin to movethrough air that rubs you the wrong way,peels something off, grates awaywhatever resolution the night gavein the long distance graveyards whereall the bones laced the earth beneathso your footing was sure and yourmind at ease, thinking of music videosand Vincent Price and of nothing at all.

Movement collapsed is spelling trouble.I mean, what you are asking of meis total, one hundred percent commitmentwhen all I’ve got left is this tick and this coughor: all I want left over is the scratched floorthat shows how the heavy objects movedwhen the house held something withininstead of wind and reflected woodcreakand the calendar dust forms from gravityas the traffic noise bellows against the glass.

We ache to growl, inherit a few pieces of grace.Scotch tape becomes our only luxury, andfinally all of our shirts are pressed

by the bloating bodies they cover.When the ship sinks, it will be breakfastthat saves you, the thought thatyou cannot possible start your daydead. An equation of sublimationas everything of value searches for surfaceor swirls down into the gloom and muck.