wrote this with direction from jen crawford / check it out:
you were sorta late one day & now every day. my
idle dream of holiday houses & beaches & eastern
seaboard romance becoming this bucolic nightmare.
you are the lastest person on earth at night. every
night. i prise up the floorboards. bored. three possums
have made a home there. they stare in orange.
muck soaked underlay; a quorum of ants
& glittered motion, several sensations
while i swing a ladder. there seems some tension
round the edge of sight as if that ever
meant the world to you. screw intuition,
just one step & then a darker few more.
the flaring marbles, the un-crying eyes
gather like smokers glancing aimlessly;
concealing purpose. they mill around, here
in the under-house & scrutinise piles
upon haystacks of mail. i fall silent.
a knocking at the door on high fashioning a
whirlpool of unease (most houses love a door front &
back seaside living though it’s leaving the need of doors
open as a question (time a ruptured semaphoric system too
something like salt in the air & (what is the sound of you?
you standing near the back door peering tightly over
a curtain pirouetting then with an absent stare to the grass
memory of you is like windchimes / don’t check that
digital display you know you’re unexpected every
instant (the whirlpool the scourge of literate marsupials
circling a cloistering weave (the vertical hole one shaft
of light & such a distance this desperately simple door
to freedom (imagine you a southern cop bent to the core
& me like someone urging: kick in the door / kick in the door
thumbs down oh common stick-insect
you’re nothing great to see,
just olive green, three inches long…
boring. & all agree.
the titan see – it rules these parts –
dwarfs most common objects.
books, ipods, & mobile-phones…ha
cringe all lesser insects!
(‘makes no sense, your queer digressions’
like, kinda what you’d say
before we met & before this time,
this night, this holiday)
but now the bugs + loamy soil
nothing if not a crux;
one forces you to look to ground
(ph a state of flux?)
no reason for the scared flash of light issuing
no reason for your drunken arrival no reason
for any rescue attempt / i risk your name also
know you hear it / but the lastest thing i’m seeing
it’s your billow of skirts & a ladder’s withdrawal /
hammers are everywhere these days… nails dependable
sturdy & right there & with a few taps (squeaks) i am
semi-alone under floor / my new companions / they
no longer menace me at least… are now sympathetic
to the plight / a couple of AA batteries that unites us
& so naturally, i read / the possums are helpful
bringing forth what i need / it makes sense now that
every letter is addressed to you & quite fine / ‘..love
you come rain, hail or shine…’ for example, or et cetera /
my friends & i share knowing, orange looks
for an improbable eternity