the next thing to say

re: union


i'm gonna blow the roof off
i'm gonna empty vessel after vessel
i'm gonna be the perfect bracelet and never fall off
always shine
always rest on the bedside table
and never break

i swallowed a telephone booth full of nostalgia and melancholia last weekend
i dialed strange numbers and listened to sussurations from strange graves
i ate a quarter pound hot dog in front of six screaming television sets
i smiled and it hurt and i drove around in the rain because it was the only thing to do

the alarm went off and it was mortar and pestle and hellfire of neuronal screaming
and the swallowing started up as soon as the door opened
and every corner looked inviting and every glass was going to be as goddamned half-full as i could make it before the fluids froze and maybe even before the cheese started to sweat

i only remembered a few of the people in the room
maybe it was the room and the room was maybe most of the night but the night was clearly made for people whom i did not know and never would again
and the rooms all spilled their fleshy contents out into the trough going down the center of the concrete and glass hives

the night was open and noise and volumes of poems not yet written scribbling themselves across the vapid the mundane the horrible the aroused the slick and even the children
they were all children down there in that scar between this street and that street
the muses were all turned down and the little hairs stood on end to be audience to the chorus of yesterdays and best friends forever

forever could have been those four hours last saturday night
but the sidewalk was closed and the hot dog came back up with the morning coffee



geo

oct 09