exercise in staying still like that guy you read about in books

he wants the silence to move
her across the room. [punctuation? what?] she's broken
the daily monotony by showing
up. he slept funny last night with his head
in circles, and his legs
in crosses. she always sleeps
on her face. last night
she slept on her face. she looks like
she's a person who sleeps on her face.

they both guzzle their drinks.
and they try to shake the sleep from their limbs.



"Christ!," he finally yells,
and he slams his computer shut.

"Fuck almighty," she whistles under her breath.
he gets up and slams his drink on her table
as if his coffee was a tankard of ale and he a Norse warrior.
he shouts her down from the ledge of her chair.
she has too much to live for, he thinks.
she thinks she needs higher ground to deal with such an approach.
but she complies.
things are no longer as monotonous as they were moments ago.
they shout small talk till one wins.
no one wins.
they're stuck to their chairs.

"Let's order some more sand," he bellows.
"I can't, I'm outta change," she replies.
"How will we sleep on the beach then?"
"I don't know."


"Christ," she finally concedes.

not even an alarm could give pause to this.
they're committed now.
and like a child submerged to his head in sand,
they will have to wait with one another
until one of us poor sods has the decency to dig them out.

you said to paint so I "to paint"

the sky's throat
throttled by a pink silken shroud
we give chase through the clouds
as our knees crackle on the carpet below,
our noses bleed
with the changes in
altitude

and what's below is certainly
not as soft
as what's above

but sky chokes
nonetheless
as we
overcome our sense of
gravity

our responsibility
to it

take the still frame of this fall
suffocate
in leaden air and meet
hard ground
with the tips of our toes
as our silken noose
tightens
its hold
around our airways

he always said there was too much sky for its own good
but what is sky but breathing, thumping, crackling, racing canvas
poised to pit any creature against itself
be it turtle turtle or hare hare or turtle hare or hare

sky canvas
ready to swallow and smother our fall

we're sitting on this bench
in the painted pottery section
waiting for our next stab at jury duty
waiting for the love of our lives to find us
as we contemplate

sky

stretch me-------------------------
stretch us--------------------------

stretch our time back into antiquity

the face is usually the first to drop
maybe the right foot

but arms
our arms
always reaching to be wings
as we dangle from canvas and thread

August Series

I.
Cut shots and we're
crouching on sand
ringing our hair
into the holes we dug

II.
His unwashed smile never creeps
up to his eyes
and we're all deprived
of his oystered whites

III.
Cry my shout to her bones
and rattle my vibrations in her kneecaps
we could both stand to lose

IV.
Battle for the lost and the last
and blow it the fuck up
lighting is easier when you have moths to attract

V.
You broke the rules of engagement
and pointed your nose straight up
we shed our wings for the smell
of cloud

VI.
You've grabbed my elbows
and I've taken your ankles
and we will be a barrow
on the hill

VII.
Feel your toes
crush the carpet as you
pad around the fallen
it's 4 a.m.
and you've got time
to kill

VIII.
There's the station
and it's sitting like the Thinker
our feet are stuck in sinkholes
as our seats go from
green to brown

IX.
Box cutters and cash registers
we go to the depot
and we find a party

X.
Go, go, go explode
you're standing in the way
and we leave in 15
your feet mean nothing
and they're
stopping
everything