.
look up to me and I consider shrinking
light the fire and I consider pissing it out
touch me and I sweat and bruise in the very spot
feel sorry for me and I forget who you are
don’t panic it’s just a little part of me
a personality I don’t use much anymore
he stays up late and whines in notebooks
where most of the pages are blank
tell me what to do and I do it
lies are the narrative of identity
.
.
in this space small things that become big
and consume time
where projected lights reveal holes instead of things
where fire burns as it heals
here my reflection turns away
and takes a minute to reconsider
“are you sure you are looking in the right place?”
(we both agree to disagree)
this is where I push & squeeze at the same time
swallow and spit
dance and sleep
I always come back here
now lets look for holes
and destroy things.
.
.
gliding in a hand gesture
guilt to grit
right to left in the air
but making an imaginary sound
the kind we both hear
where you are you hear the other hand clap
I’m vertical but curved in a predictable slump
the little problems we solve all day disappear
and turn into money
it is time to be slow
to float and glow
where hands in movement
measure the weight and breath of time
.
.
don’t click anywhere near here
not where we’re sitting
and reading and talking
not where the breath
is propelled by laughing
when we are together
it’s time for machines to sleep
.