Month: November 2007
-
Today
People walk with umbrellas and slow their pace when storefronts blink.Lines of plastic adapters,silver welds of rings or chains.Unexpected rebuttals, instant heartbreak.The crackle of your mouth against the speakerIndulging supplication,a dark season, fed little pills.Less automation in barren anomalies.Etiquette goes quick.There are times when other people want more.Real estate arranged in hollow bonesEach cage equipped…
-
Today
Drawing closed, drawersand other things with latches.Hands as pleasure, nodes of the quarry.Radio frequencies positioned in lulls,in the red room where you sleep.At night I know you are one room over,my bed positioned by the door.The stable pride of things called home:despondent handiwork and paper craft,a sudden drawing to musty smells.
-
Today
We hammer incongruencies,hangers hang nakedly.We are herding things,emissaries enjoying their own friction.Good homes, help and other extremitiesrecollected in hues, slightly procuring another. We hire a hero:
-
Today
The shrugging belt rolls under, displays recovered packaging.Bars of soap saddled up with cucumbers, mechanical recognition.I like finding what I can and sticking it to the walls.A pristine motivation, likely rebuffs between beach-side and boulevardHearsay delineated under a summer sun.I am putting the cup to the lip;there is electing to be done,idiosyncrasies to disdain.Pleased when…
-
Today
Traded fisticuffs for clothes. Led to rooms with nothing but beds, each post resembling hands.Turning back the sheets, sleeping in what appears to be rest. I don’t know what it means to be living in these little rooms, parsing-out working motors.
-
Permanent Museum
Testaments beheld through glass & forced facets, an object’s enclosed animosity for all which peers in. Eyes always open or about to be,exchanging inheritance for protection in a place that never changes.Recollections sprung forth in uniformity– mouths always open or about to be,bearing unknownhunger, unconscious of the dark. Algorithms skirted in green & trimmed in…
No Help for That | Jackie Clark 