Thursday, August 03, 2006

we live in the tunnels

you write me txt messages in my sleep
with spinning signs that say
“no, you love yourself”
and when I wake up
the bathroom light doesn’t work
and the hot water’s been turned off

she searches for those
who might be looking for her
I would like to make commercials
sell matches with cigarettes
matches are pretty cool
aren’t they
create an advertisement campaign
called: non-organic
“we cannot guarantee that our chickens are the happiest
but our eggs make enough omelets”

there is a region out there
by the name of mari-el
where they drink sour goat milk
and horse milk
and ride goats and horses
that bite at your shins
eat your socks
the hat you wore
your shoes and eyes
and hair and nose
and chin and lips
your mother’s cloths

you are from their
a beautiful drinker
and teller of folktales
drinker of horse milk

-if I may take your photo
and talk to you
about this interview
I’m reading


-it’s just that… well
you see, there is
this region out there and
I would like to show it
to a friend and your brown shoes
your eyes and hair
are from, or were,
or like it
over there… I would like
to take your photo and show it
to a friend so that she may
finally know what I mean when
I say “mari-el”


-thank you, thank you, damn!
the battery has lost its juice.
and I cannot draw
nor write fine words
like english poets
who grew up on greek
I wish I had a camera crew
disposable at hand
in my back pocket
I’d have them
filming cheek to cheek

-well, I’m getting off here
sorry I couldn’t be of much help

and off she steps
onto the platform granite
and I took her seat
still warm and fresh
I returned to my interview
and watched the wires
run along the black walls
and thought
I am not a well known person
almost nobody reads my stuff
I do not have a popular website
you cannot find me
the google search engine
brings up peter golub as
a composer of film music
I sometimes wonder if peter golub’s
music is any good

a man with a large head paces
back and forth
before me
I’d like to take his head
and put it in my bag
and take it out after
I’ve been criticized for being reckless
inconsiderate inappropriate lazy
alone the head and I would sit
under a linden tree
I would buy it the finest cigars
take it to the best barbers & dentists
we would listen to music
and although it would not talk (for lack of lungs)
it would converse via a series of blinking
my reflection in the window crawls
someone talks about a large turtle
the little boy who rides it
the turtle’s name
my lack thereof
and sleeping humans love the tracks
the rhythmic thumping of the rails below
my shoes are worn and every shirt has holes
the man beside me has no socks
adorned instead
in fingernails curled up
he mumbles to himself
another man holds up his arms
there is a letter in the left appendage
I was to jump out of a plane today
but needed 20
we had us –just two
just you and I
I slept on the 13th floor
with rabbits gently rapping on the balcony
he beat his foot quite rhythmically
I slept and dreamed
of my old boss
who fired me for time card fraud
with a pink piece of paper
and she who worked there
sending me txt messages
in my dreams five years later
and I was tired tired tired
I dreamed of him
and he showed me a form
vaughn got himself had printed
on blue paper:
“why working at the library
is most rewarding job in the world”

I wake up to the smell of coffee
and dima (dima is a diminutive of dmitry)
offered me a pastry
with some jam and sour cream
on top
and then you called
and we arranged a meeting
in the middle of
Alexander’s Gardens