indentations; soil and soul

129
indentations are funny things

and the smell of mold in a dark office space can't just be coming from the carpet
and when it rains the concrete bunker that you've worked in for twenty years
only seems appropriate, right somehow
at least the waxy plant on your head high window has a view
and the rattle of the duct is the whisper of a confidant
and the dust bunnies always roll towards the left corner
and your mind settles like warm laundry in the basement hamper
and you do not dream of anything
except distant moons and what shadows would feel like

what sort of mind architect?
what sort of airy spaces must you be rebelling against, what sort of sunshine birthday cake varsity teams must have lead to the monolithic design, the monster
you must have had a sister who adored a cat
named mr. whiskers
and a mom who insisted on dinner with the family at least twice a week
where were your summers
left sunkissed and wondering
fascinated by dark alleys and
grim news of others
and you dream always about boundaries
and wonder mostly about depth and risk and danger

and grey days
and the kids stay inside
and the cars hiss by
and earthworms are happy
149

what is really being said

1111
and i
for the first time
maybe
wished for more hum from the world
more bustling of insects

or perhaps the murmur of the diner
the clinking glasses and cloth skidding across vinyl booths

or the background static on long distance phone calls
phantoms chiming in, the hiss and pop of a fire at full blaze

or the gargling din of my ears underwater
the shrieks and laughs transported through vast steel drums, the kind with massive ridges like a cheap soup can

the sound of what is really being said
1125

bull's face blinded by the beltbuckle reflecting stadium lights

eyes
rolling orbs

must be what its like
to look at a bullet hole
seen from inside the trunk
at 235 pm
in the summer

must be what raccoons
would have to get the photolab to fix
if they took pictures
at night
with the flash on

or maybe
its the neon sign
reflecting in her eyes
when she asks
your name again

baseball

(556)
what is the point
of baseball inside?

all of the power is taken from
the pastime
and a hole
where the sun should shine
just makes me think of
kiss concerts

although, its good to know
that baseball will still be
will still thrive
in domes on distant moons
(557)

Bandolier

(10-5, .2, .45,3,5)

Jesper Norda has this song
titled


Lets go to a place infected with truth and resist with all our hearts


that i think i will like
when it rains
or my heart is broken
or possibly when i want to remember what it is like
for my heart to break
or for rain to slide along the curveofmyjackethood
or wave like a glowstick across the car window

and what of those other things,
to accomplish moods or weather patterns
I could collect, delicately, as I imagine
they
should
not touch

and when the opportunity strikes- which may be always
I will be prepared with my mood alchemy
emotion will be mine (and occasional weather pattern memories)

the sound of a fly
buzzing
the slow roll of the clouds across a field, shadows covering cars and cows
the sun winking on polished enamel
and little pools of rain

the turn of a chime on the wind
on the front porch of the
girl i knew who had a pool
i could sneak to
when skipping school
always running from car to door
as if a spy on a covert mission

and the smell of lunch boxes
reminds of of broken noses

and the feel of tongue depressors
sends chills through my teeth

and corks
well, they always just make me lust to see
a cork farm full of cork trees

1120
something about pepper
jack
keeps turning in the steel drum concrete mix of my mind
those four words
repeated with a pop pop pop
a mangled foreign accent
perhaps belonging to the pepper farmer

sometimes an addition
there's just something about pepper jack
sometimes a gooey pause
something about pepper Jack

and as the words tumble
a lone shoe, laces clipping the hot white steel sides
through my mind and lose all sense of meaning
they slip out
holding the lock to mute the click
of my mouth
when someone asks
in perfect fate
what i would like for lunch
1126

i was thinking about this great
agnostic
of the 19th century
Robert G. Ingersoll
the other day
floating above the earth

and i stopped mid sentence,
as i found myself reading another
article
about caves in pennsylvania
that you can view from a boat

well, right there
i said
is the seething tangle
of short fiction.

(placeholder for something soon)

sometimes what happens in your head late at night is a hallmark card

(A.3.1230)
When a new day breaks
even the pebbles at your feet cast a
shadow onto this world

219
There is a lot to be said
for having a pillow stuffed inside your
head

thoughts, once racing
lay down next to each other
and whisper quietly behind cupped hands

your eyes reach out with a bit of delay
the throat chuckle
a half second behind the live. studio. audience.

and you absorb things
allow time to unravel a bit in front of you
follow the pile up of snow next to the bus stop
or
pause over the sink to ponder the orange peel
and think about the
metal speedbumps
and how its funny that your nose
controls your mind.
227 (r229)