At a party [many people, dressed nice, cocktails
going round] someone I guess awoke to my presence
as if I’d just appeared out of nowhere or something
and asked me [totally circular eyes, spearing pupils]
like this: And what do you do? I looked at him, and I
don’t know what face I made, but what I wanted to
look like was something to this effect, matter-of-factly:
Well, what do you think I do? Obviously, I simply
try to avoid, day by day,
a wretchedly hopeless case of dismal ennui.
I try to endure, as stoically I can, the
inner doggerel convulsions
and mawkish throes educed by the
realization of transcendental insignificance
(or, otherwise: paradoxically substantial nothingness)
that imbues all hope of Elysian ecstasy and
reduces it to but the terrifyingly
ineluctable fact that we are essentially
impotent holograms functioning by the fixed fractal geometry
of a dynamic and chaotic, kaleidomosaic-like reality,
which, as eternally self-transforming and
forever utterly inconceivable,
is devoid of any certainty, absolute truth
and, most of all, compassion.
Furthermore, when I look at you, I see a deaf-mute
reflection of a reflection of myself, and
to be morbidly honest, I don’t
know what I can tell you that would
make any difference to the fact that, freely or
not, we are both, you and I, just passing
through our lonely, fathomless, patterned
deserts, blinded and lured by the Fata
Morgana of our sadly sublimated
consciousnesses, due to which, undulating up ahead
of us in a chimerical haze, we are
conditioned to think, fatuously, that we know,
or that it’s possible even to know, that
it means something to love or not to love, that it
matters at all whether we are alone or
not, and that, at the point of death, there will be
something, somewhere, that will condense
somehow out of this
nauseatingly numinous fog and, like a deserved,
blissful wash of our “souls”—like a salvation!—
will come to justify the inanities
and insanities of our mundane life as just the
confusing buildup to a final and triumphantly
epiphanic crystallization in which, at last,
we will truly understand, unquestionably, the meaning of I,
the meaning of you, the meaning of truth,
and the meaning of meaning—I mean, honestly sir.
What do you do?
That’s what I hope my face looked like, but I guess it
must’ve looked like something else, or maybe I said
something, because the man just raised both his brows
[his left one slightly more than his right] and stared
me down in mocked awe, on the verge of superciliousness.
His eyes slowly receded like a tide imperceptibly towards
the back of his skull, his lips pursed, parched, and pitying.
Then he nodded complaisantly, too energetically, saying:
Oh, how interesting! Did you always see yourself getting
into something like that? Mmhmm. Hmm! [and so forth]
And how do you like that? Mmhmm. [and so forth] And
the pay? Mmhmm [etcetera]. After I’d finished answering
some of his questions, I said: If you’ll excuse me, I just saw
a friend of mine, I really should go and say hi, but what a
pleasure it was to talk to you, sir. Take care!
And I excused myself.

"Heart Mechanic" said the sign above the door.
In place of a sinking feeling my eyes just move on.
There's an old neon clock on the wall, half burned out.
"Hearty Stout Beer" it tries to say.
And in place of a smirk my eyes just move on.
A small clatter, couple clicks, and a boot stomp beckon
my attention to steel plate door.
Hip first, elbow after, she backs into the room,
wiping grease off her hands before fixing her hair.

"All done!" She says, "finished up quicker than expected."
"oh, really?"
"Yep. Ran into a few problems but everything just seemed to fall into place."
"oh. that's good then."
"You bet. Almost like it wanted to be fixed, ya'know?"
"huh."
"So all that's left," she sighs, "is to put it back!"
"mmm."
"Are you ready?"
"mmhmm."
"Alright, I'll be right back."
She walks back through the steel door, and begins to tinker.
My eyes float around the room once more.
Blue and white tiles hold my feet up, faded with wear,
probably faded since new.
Beside me, a small table laden with well browsed magazines.
"The Beat on Heart Science," says one.
"What regular maintenance can protect you from," I read aloud.
Fluorescent lighting through yellowed plastic guards saturates the walls.
A coffee stained coffee maker stands lonely on the counter,
a small red light beaming from one of its corners.

A boot kicks the door, then the handle jiggles before turning.
She walks into the room with my heart in her hands.
She's smiling.
"Are you ready?" She asks, "this is always my favourite part!"
"i think so."
She reaches into my chest and starts pulling out blood lines,
connecting them to the empty chambers
of my off brand heart.
"There we go! Now, have you ever done this before?"
"no."
"Okay, well I'll help you then. Here, give me your hand."
She takes my hand and puts it on my heart.
It's cold.
"Okay, now together we're going to prime it, okay?"
"alright."
"On three, we're going to gently but firmly squeeze for about one second, then we're going to let go. We'll do this three times and you'll be set, okay?"
"Three times. Got it."
"Alright, one... two... three," we squeeze and I feel
a rush of blood fill one of the chambers. It's warm.
"One... two... three," we squeeze again and my hand slips.
If she wasn't holding it I might have dropped it.
"Head rush, hey?" Her voice is fresh paint.
"Don't worry about it, that happens. Here, two hands now."
We both hold my heart with both hands each,
finger tips touching. Warm. And soft.
"One... two..." She looks at me, she's beautiful. "Three."
Her eyes are small globes, I see in them every place I want to be,
and her lips, a compass rose, a daytime northern star.
"There we go!"
Her words are sunlight at the mouth of a cave.
She tucks the blood lines back into my chest and the heart clicks into place.
"How are you feeling?"
What a question.
"How do I feel? I feel... I feel through a body that couldn't feel anything before you. I feel warm, I feel warmed, I feel like I was a boulder in a glacier, and this fresh blood has thawed me free. I feel like I am cascading down a mountain with no control over speed or aim. I feel like I have no control, I feel like I'm scared, I feel happy though. I feel happy that I feel."
She smiles, West to East, "that's good!"
"I feel!" I can't help but laugh, "I feel like your smile is a bed of coals that..."
"mmhmm?" She's waiting.
"Like your smile is an oasis in..."
"yes?"
"Your smile... is... oh."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"Does everything feel okay?"
"I don't know."
"****, okay, here, let me have another look."

She peeks inside my chest again and puts her ear to it.
She taps my bare heart with naked fingernail and pauses for a moment.
"Oh, shoot. We flooded it."
"yeah?"
"Yeah. It's no big deal, we just need to wait it out now. Should only take a little while."
My focus lands on the clock.
"but it's late. you should be closed."
She walks towards the coffee stained coffee maker and begins to pour.
"I love what I do," she says as she looks back at me, "I won't tell if you won't," and winks.
"alright."
"Want some coffee? It sometimes speeds up this whole thing."
"okay."
She fills another cup and walks back over to me, steam wafting behind her.
Silence.
A slight hum from the clock.
The sound of her blowing at her cup to cool it.
"So," she asks, "what do you think about after having someone else's hands on your heart?"
"umm, i'm not sure."
"I've never had to have it done, myself. I guess I'm just lucky. Do you think about anything?"
"uhh.."
Silence.
A slight hum from the clock.
The sound of her blowing at her cup to cool it.
"i'm thinking..."
She looks up from the paper cup.
"i'm thinking about how this table has four legs, and so do we, and how those legs," i'm an idiot, "..how those legs hold up two magazines, and ours hold up two people." i am an idiot. "and how those magazines were written by people, like us. and yet," hello, my name is help me, i’m an idiot. "and yet the table holds a better conversation than us right now, because i don't know what i'm thinking.”
"what i think," i tell her, "is that i'm an idiot."

She laughs, "Well I don't think you're an idiot, I don't think I ever would have thought of that. And I've even read through those magazines! Trust me, they aren't all that good for conversations."
"really?"
"Yeah, I mean, would you imagine the same person who writes instruction booklets and manuals," she picks up one of the magazines and tosses it down again, "would make for good conversation?"
"I guess not."
"Exactly, who wants everything to be so straightforward and objective? Might as well just be robots!"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"So, whe- wait, did you just laugh?"
"What?"
"Just then, I thought I heard you laugh. You did, didn't you?"
"No? I mean, maybe? I guess?"
"Good," she smiles, "that means it's working."
"Oh, that is good."
"Yep. So, where do you think you're going to take this thing?"
"What?"
"This heart. The one we just fixed. Well, the one that we're still waiting on to work again, but yeah."
"Where am I going to take it?"
"Yeah, like... Do you think you'll take it to Blake's coffee?"
"Down the street?"
"Yeah, that one."
"Um, I guess so. They've got good coffee."
"Do you think you'll maybe take it there tomorrow?"
"I mean, I can, I think."
"Say, around twelve thirty? I think that would be a good time. They pull their muffins out just before then so they'll be really fresh."
"I'll have to try one."
"I'll show you how to pick the best ones, there's a secret trick to it."
"You'll be there?"
"Maybe... I always go there for lunch."
"Mmm, that'll be nice."
"Hey! Look at that!"
"What?" What.
"You just smiled! And not even a little smirk, you really smiled! That's great!"
"Did I? Oh, I guess I did! I am!"
"Look at me again, tell me what you see. I mean, if you want to."
I do, I do, and I do.
"I see... your... face?"
She laughs. "Okay, what else?"
"I see... Wait, does it need to be something I see?"
"Oh, well, I guess not. You can tell me what you think about anything I gue-"
"Your laugh," I say, "is a flickering street light, and I a moth."
"Oh..." She watches me.
"Your breaths, while we held my heart, were slow tides, crawling in and out of my open chest."
She stares.
"And... Your smile..."
She smirks, then smiles.
"Your smile is tomorrow. It is a coffee shop date that I won't stop thinking about."
Silence.

"You know what I think?" She looks down.
"What do you think?"
"I think it worked. It sounds like your heart's working fine."
"I think so too."
"Are you dizzy?"
"No, not really. Am I supposed to be?"
"No, sometimes it happens and I'm not supposed to let anyone drive off if that's the case."
"Oh. I'm not driving."
"Are you being picked up?"
"No, I'm walking. I'm just a few blocks away. It's nothing."
"But it's raining."
"That's okay, I'm looking forward to how it'll feel, I don't know if I've ever really felt it before."
"Well, in that case," she walks around the office and begins turning lights off, "do you want to walk me home? I'm just a few blocks away too, but I hate the rain."
"Absolutely."
"Alright, are you ready?"
"Yes."
We walk out the door into the dark.

It's cold, and wet, and noisy. My feet are damp and the world looks lonely.
It's windy too, it's a wind that hates me. It's trying to push me into a post.
She locks the door behind us.
Steel bits moving into place to keep us out. To keep us outside in this cold.
"Whew!" She pulls up her collar, "it's more windy than I thought!"
"Yeah, it's cold, isn't it?"
"It didn't look this cold from inside either. What do you think? Still want to walk me home?"
"I... It's really dark."
"Oh."
"It's cold too, and windy."
She looks at a puddle.
"It's dark and cold and windy and the world feels lonely and miserable, and I don't know if I've ever felt like this before, but I don't like it for what it seems to be."
Silence.
"...but even though it's dark your voice is sunlight," I grab her hand. "And it might be cold but your hands are warm."
She looks at me again, it's dark but I think she's smiling.
"And I know the wind won't let us keep still but you made my still heart beat again, and even if this world is as lonely as it feels right now you're here and that's enough for me, so yes, I would love to walk you home. I don't know if I've ever wanted anything more."
"Good," she squeezes my hand, "me too."

"Say, whus tha good wurd, Mista Mornin Bird?"
"Ahh, ya know just chillin here singin these here tunes waitin fah Mista Worm."
"Ahh dat Mista Worm - he alwayz be runnin late."
"True dat!”
”Yo! peep this...
Last night he took his ol girl out on a date."
''A date? Really? Mistah Worm?”
"Yup.
But it getz betta tho.
It wuz dare anniversary. Ol fool went to tha chapel an got married."
"MARRIED!!??"
"mmhmm."
"Where dey get married?"
"At dare special spot in tha apple orchard.
Mistah worm told me he and hiz girl are movin to the Big Apple.”
“Big Apple? Fah what?”
“He gunna work fah tha East New York Farms.  I guess hiz uncle Jim
got him in.”
“…Mista Worm…”

"Say, howz Mista Skunk doin?  He evah get clean?"
"I dont see much of him theez dayz.  Heard heez down on his luck. Evah since tha paper mill closed he aint been tha same.  Heez so stressed out he got mo white hairz than a polar bear.”
“Dammmnnn!!!”
”Sumone told me that heez a nasty lil ol drunk wit a funky attitude and a quick tempa!
No wunda hiz wife leftem.
My understandin iz he still outta work - rummigin through peoples junk - collectin cans, tryin to make a buck.
Itz a **** shame, aint it?"
"Uh huh."

"Howz Mista Rabbit?"
"Miiiista Rabbit! Oohh dat Mista Rabbit he dunn got himself a nasty habbit."
"Whys dat?"
"He be stealin outta Mizz Jonsens garden again.
Otha day Mizz Jonsen shooed him away chasin him down tha block wit a pair of ol rusty scissors in her hand."
"Scissors!!??"
"Yup. She told him next time he wont be so lucky wit out hiz foot."
"WHUT!!??  Whus dat suppose da mean?"
"I dunno.”
"Dat Mizz Jonsen gone crazy!!
She dunn lost her mind in her ol age.
She crazier than a ******* rat!
Man, when Mista Rabbit gunna learn?”
"I guess when he haz no foot."

"Say, you talk to Mista Squirrel at all?"
“Itz been sum time.”
“How wuz he doin?”
"Man, you know Mistah Squirrel.  He wuz all ova da place, or at least he wuz.  He alwayz be jumpin from one tree to tha next, alllllwayz tryin to get a nut or two.  Last I heard he got deported and now lives in anotha county.”
“Why iz dat?”
“He dunn got locked up fah breakin in a few too many attics. They finally caught him....Stoopid fool."
''****…”

"Nuff about tha neighbahood.  How you been?  Havent seen you inna while."
"Im still doin my thang, ya know.
Roamin from town ta town, chasin down tail."
"Yous still chillin in dem alleys too?"
"Fa sho!"
"Man, aint a **** thang changed wit chu.
Yous alwayz been a cool cat...”

A crazy *******
got in my face
the other day.

"This is my shop!,
I put the work in this *******,
see ya'll young people come in here
trying to mess up my shop,
this is MY SHOP!"

"Mmhmm," a fat ****
in the corner affirmed.

Crazy *******
are often your
barbers.

He's pulled this **** before,
I've seen him do it.

He'll just throw the clippers down
and get in somebody's face,
while they flip dumbly through
Sports Illlustrated.

It's funny as hell.

He had spittle
in cakes at the corners of his mouth
that wiggled
like eggs on an unbalanced beam
and fat lips that looked
like rotten peach slivers;
all brown and ugly pink.

He's in his forties and stumpy.
But all he ever does is yell.

I punched him
right in his lips.

His teeth were hard and scratched my knuckles,
but he backstepped,
gave me one of those crazy people
"I might just cut your head off" looks
and walked to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Crazy *******
think
they're the crazier than everybody else.

kinda cool,
everything
not too shabby at all
maybe it's perfect
this whole whatever we all are
and nothing is truly awful
but unfortunate, at times
and pretty **** alright the rest
oh yeah
not horrible
simple really, if one can breathe
occassionally sleep
or not
too much greatness to observe
swerve the baysides
collect some efforts and shears
become air statues and memorials of testimonials of primative genius
mmhmm
downright loverly
splendid shining on
cathartic rhythms

"That's a lot of eyes."
"What, two?"
"No. Well."
"What?"
"I think you have more
      than just two..."
"What?
     No,
          I have two."
"That's not what I meant."
"Okay."
"I know
      that you know
                what I meant."
       "Maybe..."
"Don't maybe me."
"Sorry."

"What do you see now?"
"Now?"
"Right now."
     "******* everything."
"How so."
"Lots of eyes,
      remember?"
"Mmhmm."
"Well,
            you asked."
"What does everything
       mean?"
"I don't know,
       but i see it.
                                         All of it."

I can't even look at you
without feeling like I'm gonna fall apart,
I'm wound up in this mood
mmhmm, obsessing and craving you

baby I know you wanna sneak around
what if I told you I'm down
let's get on this ride, say goodbye

if you're wondering if I want this
I do
if you're wondering if you can trust this
you can
without a doubt I'll lose myself to you

holding back
nu uh, no I can'tuh, let's f**k around
while no one is around
uhh huh let's sink into the clouds
cause I need you

If you're wondering if I want this
I do
if you're wondering if you can trust this
you can
without a doubt I'll lose myself to you

watch me party, get down
make you my favorite prayer ooo, woo
wind you up while I set the mood
have you obsessing and craving me mmhmm

I'm wondering if you want this
please do
can I really really trust this
hope so
don't doubt this, yup, ***, let's get lost