All I remember is the fragment, the box springs of the
head. The
weather was broken and lying in several sequences of
looped man-
action (javelin throw, drunken vomiting, coitus) on my
desk. I
picked up the pieces and moved on. You must have
bought new
furniture while I slept. You must have summed up the
crisis in
the Middle East. The neighbors like balloons slide
quietly across
the parking lot; it's early yet, you must have
damaged the room
beyond repair as I slept. Calling tech support, the
beautiful
elderly hunched over the slowness of their day pinch
out of my
scowl a smile that unravels like threads on a list of
things to
do dirtier next time around. I think: will this be us?
And would
be pleased were it so: an old couple holding hands
across
airplane debris that bite deeply into the ground,
finding
everywhere and allowing to gush the watertable on
which I've re-
assembled the weather, creative and tortured little
prick that I
am, unable to leave well enough alone. All I remember
is the
fragrance, the glancing of teeth on moaning flesh, and
dusks
squiting laterally from your eyes as you sat on me.
You must have
corrected the vacancy in my annual report. I
exaggerated the
profit, but still feel good about the crisis in the
Middle East.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html


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