Went down the stairs and to the sliding doors pulled the stick out of the track and put it on the bench where this ass would sit gradually slid the glass door with hand prints that catch the stare of the Sun until it blinks again with pollution walked without shoes over the rocks in the backyard this one had bigger ones sharper ones than the previous house that burned the smolder is still in my head moving from the middle further back with every scrape of forgetting stub one of the toes of the right foot beginning to climb the back wall could have gone out the front door wanted to do this way don't know if wanted is the word have always liked to do away with words haven't talked in days or weeks and yet there is still all the thinking envious of the cat read the eyes the whiskers of indifference muffled silence not bringing anything she said I left my notepad somewhere stopped showing up for sitting planes circle in the water within me as it evaporates as it all evaporates disrupting nothing for changing nothing heels dig in to the back of your neck digging in for another mesmerizing rehearsal of routine checks that bounce off the chest lungs fill with disgust no that's not it nothing is it not even despair watching people avoid death by watching it all day dragging their folding chairs closer to the precipice of involvement in the whatever of picking up an empty cup sticky bottle cracked plate greasy napkin and leaving them in the next room over the wall snapping your finger at the hot air what a what mismatch an asking myself what I could have done differently and yet and yet doing it in yet another different wrong way under the same heading that keeps all the weight of the abyss of the universe from crashing down on your sweating head taking nothing with you as you jump down to the sidewalk on the other side of the backyard wall back on the street as the cells of the neighborhood pass by behind you as you drift off into the point that never vanishes the walls the houses the landscaping the drains that pretend not to imitate each other or maybe they are so proudly so pathetically feet burn as the sidewalk turns to crickets turns to dirt and weeds stretching for miles between addresses clearing the throat no heads to look with misunderstanding with eagerness to stick their interpretation into your eye sockets until your head leaks with ribbed ego condoms sticking out of your passages tickled by the deadness of outside where you and everyone else took it out on that until it ceased to look back with anything only walking on the bottom of the dry tub of existence looking for the next hole to drop down and land you never keep falling just roll over and onto the floor of some department called the following day when you went down the stairs Went down the stairs and to the sliding doors pulled the stick out of the track and put it on the bench where this ass would sit slid the glass with hand prints that catch the stare of the Sun until it blinks again with pollution walked without shoes over the rocks in the backyard this one had bigger ones sharper ones than the previous house that burned the smolder is still in my head moving from the middle further back with every scrape of forgetting stub one of the toes of the right foot beginning to climb the back wall could have gone out the front door wanted to do this way don't know if wanted is the word have always liked to do away with words haven't talked in days or weeks and yet there is still all the thinking envious of the cat read the eyes the whiskers of indifference muffled silence not bringing anything she said I left my notepad somewhere stopped showing up for sitting planes circle in the water within me as it evaporates as it all evaporates disrupting nothing for changing nothing heels dig in to the back of your neck digging in for another mesmerizing rehearsal of routine checks that bounce off the chest lungs fill with disgust no that's not it nothing is it not even despair watching people avoid death by watching it all day dragging their folding chairs closer to the precipice of involvement in the whatever of picking up an empty cup sticky bottle cracked plate greasy napkin and leaving them in the next room over the wall snapping your finger at the hot air what a what mismatch an asking myself what I could have done differently and yet and yet doing it in yet another different wrong way under the same heading that keeps all the weight of the abyss of the universe from crashing down on your sweating head taking nothing with you as you jump down to the sidewalk on the other side of the backyard wall back on the street as the cells of the neighborhood pass by behind you as you drift off into the point that never vanishes the walls the houses the landscaping the drains that pretend not to imitate each other or maybe they are so proudly so pathetically feet burn as the sidewalk turns to crickets turns to dirt and weeds stretching for miles.


- Max Stoltenberg