computers too hot; motorcar wont turn on
clothes fit at night but are short by the dawn
if He made us because all things must get made
why did he make us to wither and fade?
i’d hoped to chance but nie is ought
when time can’t short but long can’t knot
i’d hoped to see us with my me
but chance till time; you’re on tv
airport
while waiting for my parents at the airport, a man sat down at a table across from me. he was waiting, too. you could tell by the way he looked at the stairs. after a few minutes she arrived; dragging a rolling suitcase and matching his smile. they hugged and kissed, and walked away hand in hand. they were both very attractive looking people. But each had what could be called a defect.
the man had only one leg. after the knee was a black plastic appendage. the woman had a deep purple birthmark running from her collarbone and wrapping around her neck to her cheek. neither would have qualified as a sacrificial lamb. two monuments in disrepair.
when they kissed, the man buried his face on that side of her neck. they were very beautiful.
which came first, the chicken or the chicken or the chick
i just watched a video of modest mouse playing the world at large on pbs. it originally aired in 2005, when i was 15. i just realized that i play indie rock, i love plaid shirts, and i am working on a sleeve tattoo…and i am probably doing all of this because that is what isaac brock was doing, and he made a lasting impression on me.
why did it take me five years to realize how much i liked plaid? what if hipsters had stopped wearing plaid since then? if i had watched a country singer who was super impressive that night, would i have decided to be like him? what would i be wearing now?
to be me in this warmth is a dream not absurd
to lack every broken injecting my bones
to have pleasure of sustenance, joyful in word;
but where could a dissonance hide in a tone?
how can a mountain hide deep in a cave?
where is the sacrifice pleased with himself?
what if the savior is looking up save
in the concordance he
found
on
the
shelf?
no matter what lie you clothespin to my lip
don’t dare let me say “I’m enjoying the trip
compared to the slaves going down
with
the
ship.”
is it okay?
i might be the man who turns bikes into kites
for the breezes in north carolina
i could be the kind who builds bricks to such heights
that they swaddle the mountains of china
but for better or worse
be it blessing, or curse,
if its pure or perverse,
if its right, or reversed,
i’ll never be convinced, confined, or coerced,
to dive headfirst into a vagina
“is it okay?” looking down at his feet. when
he looked up he
saw if it was
if i say the things you think
but think you should not say
would you say a thought that leads
to nothing
leads
astray?
as i was sitting
on my couch answering a voicemail, someone knocked on my apartment door. I opened up. ”Pest Control,” he said.
He carried a rusty metal can with a pump and hose, like Anton Chigurh’s bolt gun. He proceeded to wander my apartment, dosing the corners and baseboards with gratuitous squirts of an unidentified chemical.
Then he said “Have a good day,” and left.
You can’t experience the story the way I did, since you weren’t there and you don’t think exactly the way I do. So let me add the moral that I learned:
I could pick up an antique pump from Thackerland, fill it with Diet Dr. Pepper, walk up to any apartment building, knock on a door, and march in and do what he did. I guarantee it.
