Empty hearted
Nothing pulling you one way or the other
Bone clock
At town square
Where the table is talking to the chair.

"The chair speaks at 12 o'clock!" the table calls.
The wind howls through the dusty streets
And the typewriter of the the town sends what the chair speaks.

"Hey . -.-- .," the chair speaks
"Where it divides you."
"Divide and multiply."
"Don't blink, for it thinks to nullify."

Doorknob is a beating heart
Bleeding sharp objects to the floor
Screws, razors, and knives bled to the floor.

Walk one way, on carpets.
In through the back door walks another
Ethereal form,
Soft outline.

He's a calculator puking formulas
Puking squirming formulas
With only two buttons
Divide and multiply.

"Life = add, subtract, divide, and multiply."
Understanding: simplified
But Hey . -.-- . seems to nullify.

Take a chunk out
No ****** recognition
A piece of wire from the chin up through the nostril,
Oneself at the back door.

Threatening to sleep,
Twoself.
The couch sleeper
Chiefing at the end of the couch.

Threeself
Craving, longing, slinking around,
Fingers as crooked as trees and wants,
Spines for legs and spines for arms.

A cough through the walls,
Fourself
Forceps
A cough through the walls.

Dish detergent surgeon,
Pieces floating in the water.
Water, a shower surfing on a person feeble in the shallows,

The selves (listen) twitch together and, in time, strike by the hour to
Hey . -.-- .

I hit the ball.
The ball winds down a grassy corridor, gleaming in the fall's orange glow,
My breath stifles, closing a moment, and it all starts to bend.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)

A troup of lizards march up this chalky hill, and a curve lays like a lanyard discarded, groovy and misshapen
And they walk with detached, floppy fiddle strings across the green to apprehend the ball.

The ball eludes them and redirects to the rough, and the hole sits, agitated and circular.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)

On the couch, I stretched.
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.
I'm at the apartment, one thumb over my left eye looking at the exterior of a DVD,
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.

A closed mind in transit with a DVD lodged between left and right brain,
Left eye socket with left brain in
Right eye socket with right brain in
I press my thumb to my right eye, and the DVD spins, tickling my brain and playing.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
I putt.
Gently, one flinch from the right arm.
Loosely holding the left arm in place.

The ball rolls again, grinding the grass beneath.
It has the gumption to gather its matter and mass.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
Click.
It is sunk inside its cubbyhole.

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.

On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)

On Fridays, I cannot have you.

I'm a Christian and I love the Lord Jesus Christ.

I love you.

God bless you.

Hello.
How are you?

Will you marry me?

I have a dream.

What's your name?

Would you like to spend some time with me?

I'm happy.

I have emotions.

Excuse me.

I don't have enough money.

I don't have [insert item here].

I don't know.

I love America.

Nepotize Me.
Must have been thirty thousand phone calls.

Nepotize Me.
Must have been thirty thousand speeches, conversations.

Nepotize Me.
Must have been 20 years old when it all started

Nepotize Me.
Self 1, Self multiplies, suddenly thirty thousand selves.

Nepotize Me.
Them Selves...much obliged.

Nepotize Me.
Room full of people, in a room beyond, there must be a room full of people saying "hello".

Nepotize Me.

Dear Lord, please pull us together.

I wind my heart back a few hours and let the minute hands knock into each other.
I wind my heart back a few hours and let it proceed to share, scare, and comfort in its procession.
I sit inside a chair, the confines, stronger and stranger than cement.
What is the sound of one person laughing?

Beauty lies dormant, a silent preamble.

What is the sound of one person aging,
Beauty looks away from what she can have.

What she can have
=/=
What she wants