reenactments

attempt one

A boy passed through furniture. The lights in the room were on, illuminating the latest showpieces. The chair of the month. A deal, a bargain.
After nights in that dark passing-streets
the sharp corners dampened by the unforgiving evening,
beside the dull bright lit words,
an emergence.
To join, what he wanted.

Glove in stool.
Hair in the folds of bed sheets.
Hesitation of the hat stand,
the deferential bows of the coat rack.

The elegant downturn of carved ends. The austerity of the suits that move between the showroom, each a setting of future grandeur. He wanted to feel the soft steps on carpet. He wanted to know what the furniture knew.

Secrets: Fruit portraiture, weeping of plastic grapes, the place where he could sit, letters of words giving semblance of the value.

Missed Connections - Olympia - November 5th, 2008

I saw you in Fred Meyer, you were in the bread aisle. I saw you touch a loaf of bread. You put it back, and then wandered with your cart until you came to the jellies. I saw the way you looked at the Smuckers strawberry jelly. I passed you by, on my way to the cereal aisle, and I saw you looking at me, or were you looking at the jelly? I know the jelly comes in my different colors and consistencies. I understand why you would look at it. I liked the way you looked at the jelly and the way the bread hung in your arms, as if you were cradling an infant.

"and only _______ could make a birthday mix cd that segues from magnetic fields into nurse with wound into antony and the johnsons. i love that girl."

God, I miss you. I must forget, I really must. More dreams: I remember the last one about you, it was oh, two and a half months ago. In it, I chased you around dark city streets. You alluded me, until we came to a museum. I followed you inside, and finally got you into a tiny booth with me. I said, "I love you, I love you", and you struggled in my arms, but I was finally able to get you to submit to me. We held each other tightly for a long period of time, but you then vanished shortly thereafter.

This is so terribly personal. I might delete it later. I am feeling quite impetuous.

I had a vision. It started with a song I had composed in my head while on the border of wakefulness and slumber. Then I felt a great rush of a strange desire. I felt the profundity of the language of desire, how caresses are their own language, and I heard/saw the words in my head, the words I wanted to say, the words indistinguishable from the movement of our hands.

why I am awake at this hour

I keep waking up from these dreams. The last one shook me violently. I dreamt I was traversing the country. I was with these men, men I had never met before, and we were about to commit a crime. I think we were in Tacoma, Washington. Or was it Shelton or some kind of combination of both? I had a tiny, tiny apartment there that reminded me of my dorm in college, except it was very messy, which is unlike me. So, I was with these men, and we parked in front of this building where the crime was to take place, and they told me to lay completely still in the car until they got back. I suppose I was a lookout, but than why I was just to be a heap in the car? When they did come back, we rushed off to their cries of "Go go go", through the crowded streets of the city, and unknown assailants were shooting at us. I was shot, straight through the hand, yet it was a tiny wound, like one of my paper cuts from work. After all this happened, I was alone again, and wandered around the streets of downtown Tacoma/Shelton and thought about the pain in my hand and how in heavens I was going to pay to see a doctor. Oh yeah, I had all those overdue movies due to the library, I need to go to the library too. I returned to my tiny, clustered room and I realized how unhappy I was there. Suddenly, a vision of the delights of Seattle beckoned to me. I saw myself ascending a narrow, creaking wooden staircase in an old house. I knew I would be content there. Oh, contentedness at last. Is there such a thing?