I found you. I will find out everything about you, too. You won't know, because I am an invisible thing
I am a thing you know about
but really you don't
because you've never met me, never will remember me
Isn't it fun? I would ask you
To be an unreturnable?
to think you haven't a thought about it. I am a wish spyer
I will pay extra close
any amount of $$, silently
like I'm a wall
but I haven't any walls like you.
I guess this is where you live, then. So this is your place? god what a scum place you've made into
What are your walls made of? Where are your softspots.
How do you even say my name like that, when have you ever said my name
I've heard you say it aloud, in some past
we were living in a present then
I gave all the presents I could think of, still do
I have already taken myself back
I have been taken aback.
but I'm hanging on the walls
a crack
in your softwood, grosswood, moldwood
you are a fat disgusting wood, tall & forward & upright barely
I have to go to work
and pretend like I like to be there
everyone, no not everyone
most everyone has a problem like this, you know, with work
unless you like to do what you're being paid to do
but who does, who does figure this out?
I ate too much salad, which is funny
because salad is so little, so good-for-me
and I am pretty little, I am pretty bad-for-me, though
Was I worse for you? when I existed
Why am I the only one asking all of the questions, here?
Why am I the alone interviewer? How will I get my articles published?
without the answers I'm needing
I don't know.
I don't like where you live,
I don't like YOUR grub
it's a gross grub
and I don't blame them for not wanting you
I don't wonder why they won't
and that doesn't leave me with questions
so instead I will just sit here & interrogate
myself
the world
the seasons
the wind
I saw the moon again, it's back
and I can't wait to interrogate it tonight when I get off of work
I'm going downtown
to paste up a portrait of Carl Sandburg in some ugly boise alleyway
and a portrait of Mark Twain on some gross streetcorner
and a portrait of Walt Whitman on jamba juice or something, I D K
but first I have to find a paintbrush, and a roller, and I have to make some wheatpaste
and I have to care to
rather than to not care to
and during all of this I will be asking the questions, here
I will do all of the talking
at the moon, or whoever you are
and I won't be answered (maybe)
but the last time we spoke
you actually did answer me
you reminded me why I've never loved you, & why I don't love you now
because there are Actual people in the world
who are Actually there
Actually available
who Actually, Actually give a shit
about something other
than some decrepit broke shell
for inhabiting
that's big enough only
for your brokenopen egg
because nothing else exists to you
save for alone
& sad
& miserable
& longing for longing for who isn't longing back at you,
backwards glance garbagehouse
6/12 3:16 pm
backwards glance garbagehouse
6/12 3:16 pm
