In Place, For Sale Again

 

fig.89.2) Air is for breathing. Cattle are of singing. But babies, what are the babies for?

I was Watching, Paris, Texas directed by Wim Wenders. There are cowboys in their wishing stores and there's tight spots amidst the crenulated landscape. Men are waiting for showers but will have none until everyone coughs. In Selma and Louis, we'd all leave out through the side room, leaving our bourbon behind. Still, a more beautiful send up of a clown's purpose has never been made. This film references Jacques Tati marvelously, his clown is already a doppelganger of Buster Keaton's tramp, he invades the post modern equivalent of aether with baskets in hand. But we're over extended.

We're anxious, frustrated and sad to be here. Many of us are without purpose or we need basic resources. Some of us need hugs and some of us need to be recognized for being the people, as we've always been. We need more time to keep making all of it up. We need more resources, better pencils, a bigger notebook sitting by our phone. We need an internet that works like fast gets stuff done. We need more stuff in Tennessee, Oklahoma and Maine. We need water to drink and a place between the bus stop and the mailbox where we can vote. We need guns and gear and higher ideals. We need a place to hide the demands once the deal is done. We're ready for all of this to end and we're ok with that. But first dinner, what about dinner? We need to get those boxes out on to the lawn and the trash into the bins. This whiskey won't drink itself and the light in the basement should be red. Every window needs a lantern, a tunnel under all the floor boards that can be spared. We need to connect the teaching words to a tomorrow that will happen. "We're homeless now. The cradle's half as full as something that's been more full by at least half of that," sayeth them monkeys what fly by their ass.

Out under all of the stars - looking up and waiting for the dice to be done for awhile. Waiting for this box to be open again - for this door to be closed or its lock to be broken by the skinny prick in the dress with a mean spirit on their dirge lapel - me, the stumbling servant, a goon as the economy swells. My throne has gone and I'm tipsy too. Singing tonight, dropping ballots as hard as any vote that's ever been cast. Sharing it straight to you too, here I am. Hanging from the back of my bed - there's economics to be done tonight. There's math to be won here. There's the long fun of the ropes that aren't that hard to stretch. Dancing above the sewers without taking a step - the gibbet's cost drops daily.

Knock Knock, it's the moll of Jacob's mess, all alone am I - this evening here I am - dancing 'round and round my feet don't hardly touch the ground, the chair right there has fallen down and my bed is overburdened

Knock Knock, it's the moll of Jacob's mess, There's guts and gizzards among the broken stones, like teeth in the wale below my birthday's bones, like water I'm singing - waiting for your shoes to float back home

Knock Knock, it's the moll of Jacob's mess, found at night where the loudest poems bleed. Peel back the corner lazily - there's dust then dust again on my shredded sleeve. I've had too much to drink in here - my words that aren't for hearing clear are often repeated in another ear.

Gavels drawn, "Doorknobs don't listen, educated doorknobs thrice so. Toss a penis on that thing and hit with some white paint and you're not getting through that door ever again. Why, at least in part it's because now its a really scary looking doorknob."

"Even though its just a doorknob? Sorry, a doorknob with accoutrement!"

"Yes, it's a white doorknob inviting you to touch its penis whenever you have to use it."

"Let's not forget, the doorknob is also smart. It's been educated, so it might consider its function as being transactional!"

"The act of touching its whiteness, is that payment for something?
It's a fee, sex is work, white or not."

"Por qué no, esqueletos repulbicanados? Dibujos animados de esqueletos crujientes en salsa de tomate en la cerca," Don't lets vote before we talk into that other ear too! "Adiós Señor Trump!"