I forget the 4:56 a.m. train. Now that the days have been filled with yesterdays, tomorrows, days after and before, sometimes, when I look in the mirror I wonder what remains? If Nothing remains.
there is nothing to carry, therefore Nothing to loose, but myself
with my empty suitcase. Proven wrong, still I wait. I remain.
Too many days traveling, to not loose oneself.
Too many days hunted by memories. Of me.
Forget yourself, he said, pushing record on a broken tape player. Like how I forget to use articles in English language. He films deliberate, unrehearsed, unpracticed, unconditioned wrong dream, an authentic moment. (And to think that you could recreate it ad-infinitum!)
Listen to the structure fall apart….
When I was
b r a v e
words and sentences and thoughts would drop from my
mouth.
They would rol around in the s-p-a-c-e-s we would occupy: our kitchen, our bed, hallway. Hands shaking, I pretend. It makes no difference to me how cold America is. I have been fucked, so what if I look away?
He captures me looking away.
It’s like the chair you use to sit on in the kitchen, what if it is just a memory of a chair? Symbolic of nothing, or everything that will fade. This is how we pass, like we weren’t even here.
“Did we buy it together? Well it is now mine, it was always mine, and you broke it. On misunderstanding, you-”
Through red-rock landscapes one carries chair. Yet, already, you fight. Look into the camera. Start from: ‘you keep saying this wood is him. However this common word between us tells you that language can’t substitute for life, but it can substitute for something.’” You filming me
sing: “take away the dessert, the rocks, but not the snow from me. Takeaway the sky,” I yelled against the wind. He said nothing back, except I don’t quite belong. once again, nothing has changed. I wish I could just tell him that none of us belong, instead the silence says it all. The moment remains frozen here while we laid bare. I wept. I wanted. But his hands
still found my breasts.
Yet, already.
10 years together. here.
This is not just another way to define why he clothed, to explain how I came with, why I endure wave after wave. I cannot look away from us.
To outline why I still gaze, still sail, still drift:
He’s unpredictable.
When I was brave ‘don’t fence me in’ was my song. Now I live on one thought, one human being. Milk and honey. The thought is on another side too sour.
Where’s our connection?” I ask. Is it just a word? which word? Place me on your tongue. Realize a human being is me, a me, the me, in relation to you. My fingers trying, always tryingn: beating.
A lifetime spent
to touch you,
define you.
To touch me,
create me,
to leave a mark.
Which is nothing, but the murmur of cottonwood trees.
Anchor me.
we sail on dreams, will wake to reality.
“Reality?”
“The thin moment between tenses of mind.”
“Eat me up or grow up and blow away.”
