(with the same rhythm under the same sky 2)




I don’t put the things I like in order.

I’ve come far counting the numbers I know.

Even if it’s not a mistake if you hate me

it might be a crime to forget you.

I’m just going to say it

To speak is the faint desire to show something.

In which book did I copy down this quote by Jacques Roubaud?

Not understanding French, acting vainly is

an evening of adaptation resisting resistance.

A night of cruising antagonising an antagonism.

I can go without speaking for some time.

I don’t have depth. I have width.

I’m a good size to shiver wildly while wandering the forest.

Big world not pig herd.

Star power not wallflower.

Losing the way and getting scared

people call me over and I wander.

The living room light that I looked through the window at was bright and

dancing singers on a T.V filled the whole wall.

You are only in front of the dancers you watch and

I am only beside you watching the dancers.

The ears of only-in-the-front you.

Your habit of pulling your bob hair behind your ears.

What country is this song from?

Even if the ears of only-beside-you me

are there, the song is not for my listening.

Over there you

in the past, not ever following the dancing with a dance

you who disappeared out of me

over there you

lift your heels up a little

and because you press your face to the glass

I scratch.

A big nail stolen from the hardware store said

why don’t you bring the hammer down and smash.

Fucking coward bitch.

Bitches like you are the worst.

Even though I know it

is breaking courageous?

Is the broken thing a relationship?

Black beans or sweet dreams?

The stars in your sky are beautiful and sparkly.

My obvious ornamentation is like diary entries written for others to read.

When I write on the window that nonexistent stars are stars that exist

above my head is one fallen star and that star

is the lit cigarette now ready to be smoked.

Let’s see how far you burn before you get burned.

I tried to let it be

but I couldn’t peel the scab completely off the top of my head and

the dandruff speck grabbed from one hair strand’s end

is fakeness not sadness so

again today to the forest I go and yap.

I wander.