FILLING IT UP
It takes us – the time between.
In the dream there was a banquet and leather – the string in the shoulders gave out no sound, the asphalt hadn’t dried out yet, the cake clung to the fingers, the icing sugar to the chin. You had naked breasts and a tangled tongue in the middle of the do,
you danced, but afternoons are for the family. Tribute not fox trot – whoever doesn’t know that dies or suffers. So your heart full of aspen pins, so your head under the faucet, knees under the chin. And what would happen
if you could see more, if it was brighter. And so: flounder and visit parks, in cloudily-lit afternoons embroider peaces on others’ frames, gather air in the lungs of the vacuum and take off the example. So:
fill up the time between as tight as can be, so it doesn’t grab you.
And if it grabs you – drown.
Translated by David Malcolm