On the speeding vehicle to the 1.75x capitalist hub there are vultures in packs in gold light in deep winter snow pads, stalactites glimmering on cliff sides, teens and older men in tight tees in mutual observation. On the speeding vehicle, goop in streaks down the aisles, bicycles for what reasons, a foreign language’s slurred speech recognized in a smear of sleep, however, how strong, there goes my state. Loud speakered English babbles important details I miss. Muscles get weakened-thickened with an oozed pain from just looking at my screens only at any hours I can think of. Stop all left neck turning and left arm lifting from, honestly, night of specific compromise; very bad mattress for very good closeness. Pass so much bright yellow on the train. Pass reflective surfaces and light like why don’t I make movies anymore? I have eight hundred and fifty four dollars and I just paid for a month of meager insurance coverage and the rent is going to overdraft my account but I am going to take it cooly and fake my surprise when I get the bill like I still owe an extra twenty five for the time it happened in June, whattheheeellllllll? You tell me my existential questions are too heavy, “or well, ‘quite heavy’”, though the world is changing like a runout. Getting sandy. I want to brush it off me and onto the floor! There is no such thing as English, he says. There’s — ohmygod thatwassofunny!!!! — so much left levitating in between our comprehension. “— fails us.” (What was it? Language? Schooling?) Students might say “eating a lollipop while reading is the best thing ever!” and I might say I would like to pierce my ears, hang birds from them. Put me in a shirt before a lap who looks at me so closely I can gain or lose a job from the directions of my teeth. My sad ineligibility in the shape of unique gravity, his deep voiced drawls stating things about confidence and the necessity of it and marketing rain gear for dogs and speaking with strength. Rock music or a dropped call or static. Waking to say this sound does not make sense right now, said in sarcastic tones. Beans in a pillowcase. Every song sounding just like this uncomfortable situation. Breaking News:

Count the McMansions on the way to the City. Count the tipped baby carriages along the railroad tracks, emptied juice jugs, inanimate animals left to be seen in quick passing. How many ways can you say computer cutely? In which places and is it a serious rare encounter to see such a platform, or commonplace, known? How to take a selfie, how to best see yourself across all screens: how to show-disguise yourself among the masses. Beauty for the blend in, curated for what use and dual recognition. Ok I know, I’m flat, fracturing, but breakglass, pullhandle, slidedoor. How many pairs of eyes can you see on a given day in a crowded place, how many look up so often? Seriously, I do not remember how to do anything I have to. The incredible thought of yellow rice between platforms. Urrrrrr sound with the pull-up. Express to your fat and glaring hometown. Heavy lidding the wind-down. Calculates the risk. The bacteria uprooted and swallowed in the teeth cleaning, your stomach hamster wheeling from it. I would like to have an opportunity to rearrange the furniture in the left behind room. Dismantle what you built for group sleep and make out afterwards. Put away the short trees. Word the dumb dichotomy. Find me underground with a quiet brand of canary, following an inflatable lamb, the smell of a friend emanating from a stranger’s armpit.

Poets Resist is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.