Night and day it
goes on, it goes
on. I hear what feel like ponderous immaculate
lizards moving through; I call it
absence I call it silence but often I am
glad for the wrong reasons.
Many times at 6:00 a.m. there is a
fiendish din of cans, like now
for instance and we
lunge up punctured through the
blur & the broken
glass of last night’s argument, fetching up
groggy on a landscape of bed, well I can
taste our dubious breath and look it’s
me, babe, I wabble my neck and lounge the
trophy from my dream across your belly, your
body slouches towards me, jesus, there is
something about our lives that
doesn’t make sense, tomorrow
I’ll fix them up, remind me, the garbage
cans have stopped now but the room is
bright too bright to
fix I mean ah jesus I burrow slow
motion back to sleep; and the
lizards resume their
phosphorescent progress, I crowd towards them but I should
not be here now, swallowing fast & doggedly gawking &
staying put and glad but glad for the wrong reasons.