*
Like tons of hay left out
of wedlock. Bastard dry grass tall and yellow. Huts are built like skyscrapers: one ounce of glue at a time. Workers stranded
on steel beams are dragonflies counting frequent flier miles.
They shave beards in public like voluntary floggings and the hair clogs, drains
and pools.
The blue paper snow has become
another letter. Paint is huffed and left on mirrors like fog from warm breath. There are phases of melting and of freezing
that involve electronic text like patches of puddles on empty roads. Light off a belt reminds them of someone they once forgot.
*
They hold hands and run errands. Two feet
in a flower shop. Greasy chains and pinup calendars cover the walls. It’s freezing outside so they drive with the windows
down. Decorated Christmas trees lay next to the garbage cans and a harmonica buzzes the national anthem. What about the time
it takes to strip and unstirp wires?
There are different methods of waiting, like tulips wilting or cars honking at a red light.
It became about control and
control of the crosswalks. They have to get used to the sirens again. They never walked their errands. They flitted from groceries
to repair shops like children playing hide and seek on speed.
