The City Wasn't Planned, It was Delivered

fig. 92) dirt, not soft college boys

The stage is very cold, the door outside slaps shut again as a stage hand, with a length of chain and some pliers walks in tighter circles.

Carmen's forehead is red, it's like she's been shopping but the kids won't shut up.

"The angels don't supplicate themselves and they will not bounce," the vastness of theatre is only alluded to by the extent of its sounds bouncing around in the dark.

"Lincoln was shot but no one bounced. Corn has been served and no one bounces. Let's stop being such a dick limpers and just get on with it."

"Well, I think the way you sing is nice. Maybe if you put on a bright coat and pin your hair up," no one see's past the front row. All they ever see is feet, his are like dancers up on the top of some knobby gold upholstering. The smell of tobacco here is rank. It's thick as old tar can get.

"Others may wade slurries of rape towards an empty box like this, hoping for something that's been nailed to the floor. They might have spent a lifetime, avoiding traffic, listening for gardens growing. But I'm not inside one of them. I'm not alone with only a plate and a lever. My button's not a bean and my beans not meant for doomsday. No, I am not the fear of your scarf, your belt or your shoes being your own. I am not."

"Carmen isn't a very good as a teen is she?"

"All I'm saying, you're not very lucky either. She's small and can be broken easily, but she's young and can regrow from a single half. Carmen isn't very good, but she doesn't need to be. She's 98 percent more likely to be the genetic descendent of someone who understands how to sing, while you have a hard time knocking on wood."

Seasons never end, not anymore. It'll be cold in here until I'm dead from it," Randy's wise, even if the cancer makes the shaft of his penis itch in a way that no ointment can touch.

"There's a sight, over the bucket," as First Goldfish Handler, she can hear him from her side of the towel. Carmen won't eat fish, "I hate men more." The small jar in her hand is both empty and clear.

Randy suddenly changes mind, "Carmen's angel harpoon, that legendary device resembles a banana with a deep coin slot. It's been taped to a rusty shoe box for an age. Carmen's good, she's always been. I'm very fond of her. But I need a change."

"The old ways, the old ways," Randy's asking on the outside? "So the old ways built us heavier outhouses with deeper lines that reaching into the firma. They grappled with speed like rich balls being tickled from over and up. Those old ways built their windows from nothing and they carved their doors for hot coiffed men."

"Will you get in the car nicely, one too many times. Has it been sold down the river more than once already. You can still be brave, beautiful and bold; if somewhat dwindled. It's always our city and dressing it up is fun. Planning the contrivance of its history, the pursuit of the winners, this isn't our story. It's for them, we don't even live here anymore.

"But there's still a torch in the bay."

"There are many things, and they all make words."

Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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