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Where farmers fear

fig.08) Magnet-Ass is, Eyeball-Roller.
Emergent and cheap as a thing. There's a bowl in the hands of the man that's standing in back. There's emptiness in the halls of his house, both furtive and black. There's rust and there's ashes in the beds of the masses, piles of shit masquerade as their asses. Keep keeping them all by the witnessing tree trounced by the bucketfuls, a leitmotif. The thumb of my eye making blanketing snow, hissing all night, green as it goes. Inspired by angry, encouraged by dumb, fall asleep on the red and the white blue rug. Start warm as the fishes swimming here in the pisses of the other fishes fucking and spitting. In blindness they bathe, witness to nebelung. Go deep in the lake of naked as lambs to the season of reason, bunny the bunny or sham to the legion. There's stars under the table, they're watching it rain. There's liars in the tub they're learning to swim. I'll put my hands in the water, I'm ready for sin but agape might win. - where only farmers fear
The bed's too warm now. I'm sweaty and full of pins that have exploded with their arrows and pointing lines everywhere inside of me. I feel bombed out at the soft edge of sustained worry being poked. The pretend bliss of happier times has been rushed away from my anxious thoughts, "Maybe it's where we could have married?" The room is quiet and dark.
"Start warm as fishes swimming here in the pisses with the other fishes dancing and spinning," you answer from the bed like a soft Milne or a sexy Rudyard like beast. "In blindness bathing without witness to reason."
"Go deep in the lake of naked as lambs to the season of reason."
In the margins at the end of this book are scribbled blind poems that were cribbed with a thuggish hand. These poems are about anxiety and crisis. They were written about open mouthed angels with broken necks. They're poems for lovers of stew. They have teeth that bite at the corners and eye's like hungry jewels. "Where farmers fear, nothing grows and the world will end a little bit at a time."
You drop the fat book on the floor. The smack of it sounds single minded and as resolute as any falling thing will. "The thumb of your eye makes this blanketing snow that hisses all night long and green as it goes. It's inspired by angry, it's enraged by the dumb, I'll watch it while you fall asleep on this red and white blue rug."
"There's liars in the tub they're learning to swim. I'll put my hands in the water. I'm ready for sin."
"We'll know, you'll see," Just then, the door flies open and in a sudden whirl of post retirement pique it's, John-Nathan and the entire squad of the Squirrel Team and they're all pulling down soup and cereal, filling boxes and rolling up every blanket in the house. Word got out quick and the Squirrel Team gathered the maps from under the television. They pulled the highlighters and pencils from the struck drawers and found every pen in the bottom of the closet. The single bulb above the table was changed for a much brighter, more hopeful idea-generating bulb from the furniture store over on Milwaukee.
That night we started with the dishes. Before noon, the next day the whole building was nearly empty. The chaos of early morning traffic, the alarms and all the bursts of small arms fire have mostly subsided but the Squirrel Team is looking tired now. "We've been up all night," Pontius says. Kevin shrugs his shoulders and looks around the room for his scissors.
"I'd like a pop," Pontius says. Kevin shrugs his shoulders again.
Square, underneath the window in the front room, just a little math. It faces out towards the broken street there's a glass in your hand, still water from the broken tap. You look like you're about to say something. The drapes gather on the floor, crumpled in the dust. The empty fireplace is full of old jokes, cat toys and empty bottles that are left over from the other nights we've stayed here. "You've seen it too? All the way up from Indiana. You've been looking over your shoulder the whole time. This isn't going to be like surviving in the rich sense of it, is it?"
"Emergent and cheap as a thing," I flick the gray stub of my cigarette at one of the passing cats. The room feels stuffy, "I'm hungry."
"Solo-Bear's in the kitchen. He's making another list. I heard him pulling all of the pasta and the rice from the larder last night." The back of the kitchen is a huge mess. There's a stove and a long sink hanging from the tile wall. Solo-Bear's in the middle of the floor counting bags of dehydrated carbohydrates, soft peanuts and other legumes. From where I'm sitting I can see that his gun is beside him on the floor.
"There's a bowl in the hands of the man that's standing in the back," the books are all in the other room, the small pink room with the quiet rocker. Another room is being left behind by the middle class, it’s another room to wander through before we go. You pulled this book down and started reading it to me. "There's emptiness in the halls of this house, both furtive and black. There is rust and there are ashes in the beds of the masses that live here. Piles of shit masquerade as their asses so they sit in tall chairs, taller than most."
I laugh, it sounds funny. It's like it's something that's been thrown away after a casual meal, something left over from across the street. You look at me, I stop. Unsure, I stand up and then sit back down. The boxy chair on the checkered rug feels wise. "Keeps keeping them all by the witnessing tree where they're trounced by the bucketfuls," you go on. "They're drowned in the cold weight of their grief."
"Tonight we're going to run some extension cords down to the gennie," Tim slaps Dottie on the back. "She thought of it. What do you think?"
"Squirrel Power, in ALL CAPS then." Mary turns around to help Solo-Bear in the Kitchen. The idea is to get out of here as soon as possible but John-Nathan agrees that we don't want to get caught up in the surge. "I think we can round up some stray dogs now," That's what he said about 2ish. "We'll get them back here and strap our provisions to them. I bet we can be back in Indiana by Tuesday and if we have to we can always shoot them, bang."
Someone in the kitchen yelled out, "Hey boss, I'm going down to the store for some colored water."
John-Nathan yelled out, "That's not such a good idea, right?"
"Well come on, it's hot in here and Keven smells." I hear the sound of hijinks, someone catches a slap.
"Alright, just put your t-shirts back on." John-Nathan likes to talk shop. He's enthusiastic and he's full of enthusiasm. He'll say shit like, "Shit, we're going to own this whole fucking brunch."
Solo-Bear stands up tall. His knees pop like a wrestler's. His names not really Solo-Bear but they've called him worse, mostly from fear or ignorance. He opens his mouth to speak. Then Kevin shouts him down, "There's stars under the table, they're watching it rain."
He was just across the hall. The apartment next door is open. The lights mostly work but the refrigerator is empty, already empty maybe? The food is all gone but there are piles, like monstrous waves of voluminous, full-colored, glossy pornography. It is everywhere so we stop. All of us stop to read.
Some it's old some of it's from last week. There's porn with rubber guns and fancy science. There's even some porn with sales figures, a stenographer and real fruit. Kevin's excited for Solo-Bear. He knows that Solo-Bear likes fruit with his cereal.


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