Friday, June 12, 2009

Hour Plastic

Every one of the yellow temples
cringed under the falling sky.
The new black cotton dog drank
and explored every mud puddle.
what were these lakes?
How could the sky yesterday
have been perceptibly black-blueness..
was it space?

It's stupid to get mad about someone elses' skin
and the digital everything caused
twelve hundred whos to follow the
fact that I went out last night
or that I stayed in
or that I like The Shins

there isn't a point to the
pop-up conversations about upward things
and abbreviated answers
-- destroying the beauty of a syllable.

For whatever reason my mind boils
like water on a burner
over meat and information
and personality and the perfect temperature
functions of hemispheres, sightings of specters...

I paused during the first of two walks
to smell a random orange flower
and a homeless man gargled words at me.
I wished seeing his face would reveal
the incomprehensive story.
On the same block in the Wien coffee shop
that pair on the right with
Chicago accents and Chicago frown lines talked-
strictly business.
"i made an offer"
"I signed yesterday."

So we can't help but talk about all
of the money everywhere,
which doesn't grow on a tree but
flew out of a printer
which I have and don't have perpetually
like the moon changing shape when few notice.

The staccato conversations about passion and order
were cream in my coffee.
Sometimes I want to turn the volume down
and be a rock at the bottom of my lake where I grew up,
in those silent springs.

"don't you ever relax?"
asked a former relation, once
who later would make me cry
and regret
and ashamed.

I've searched in vain for the tenacity
regarding important things.
Ambition to generate these businesses and degrees
endeavors for the resume and a future three by five
but no amount of appointments or metromix events
can make me forget the notion
that every actuality dies.

Where things are located in relation to the street grid
is aggravatingly pointless
and the fact that your knowledge of it is flawless.

An uneasy feeling exists in my stomach momentarily-
due in part to the floating head in my room last night
assuring me I was not dreaming
Transcending from face to box, box to face.
It teased me about a face,
being inside a box.

The clue for this meaning does not exist,
but face to box had me cornered in the pillows
and wishing to be absolved of all things
red, cautious, and unreal.

No comments:

Post a Comment