Yellowbird goes back to Titan
on an expidition, faced up to
what is and what is put in to words,
full afterburn while the getting is good
oxygen wise. X planed goodnessed scramjetted
to wherever. Touching down is a luxury,
hon'. I've been meaning to tell you
in very face up terms
I don't think
Seoul
is going to happen this year or ever.
"My backyard is pretty big"
"Stop kidding yourself,
you're planted. That's what it is.
It is what it-"
"If you finish that sentence
I'm going to take your teeth out of your mouth
and arrange them around a tea candle
in a saucer with a lock of your hair
to commemorate the day-"
"Ipswich? Quebec? No? Not yet?"
"Sometimes I think you're trying to be funny, bunny."
From this far away it all sounds far away and
tantalizing. "Because it is." Glamour
magazines and tits without shirts. Something or other.
Heartbreak hotelled. "I thought you were done apologizing."
"I'm not. Are you going to go get ice or not?"
"You probably should not be taking aspirin right now."
The question still stands. Clothing leaves with
half thunk second thoughts. But if you're okay
than I am not staring at the ceiling
counting seconds
until an agreement is reached.
The same conversations with the same people.
Good practices. Tying shoes again.
One sock and then the other. Then the shoes undone done again.
Eyelash flitting embarrassed because
pants are not optional, forgotten from the dream,
and knowing what waking means
for the millionth time.
Sao Paulo, Istanbul, London, god damn it, I was a Londoner
in another life, or maybe just the London scruff,
either way I'll take it, Rio De janeiro or that one place down south
right near Mexico City or, fuck it, Mexico City proper.
A bed, faced down again
because what is paid for is
what it is.
Humming a song or two and
flashpoints reached. "I can never take you to Atlanta."
"Why not?"
Berlin is shitty this time of year. I'm told. It's okay.
I didn't want to go
with you
anyway.
The thought crosses. Phone vibrating itself from a shelf
to the floor
taking
a stack of paperbacks with it. Water sounds splash glossed paper.
Timber! Crinkled grocery lists from between pages
come loose.
"I didn't know you could cook." The gray plastic rimmed
clock ticks on. Moths near the coffee table lamp. Reflection
and a coaster near. "I didn't know you could cook."
Fingerprints fade, exhalations mirror fronted. "Do you
want to get food?"
"I know a place."
What's the weather like in Singapore? "Have you been
to the scrapyard lately?"
"There's a '38 Mack truck down there."
"Yeah, there is."
"Half of one."
"Yeah."
"You ever wonder where the other half of it went?" It's difficult
to hold a hand on the like side of a body.
"I like to think it's still there
in my head,
in pieces,
but still there."
