Wednesday, November 13, 2013

mmxxix

Continue Bjork

The incessant crinkling of a mostly empty
bag of potato chips.  Rummaging through
luggage.  These are noises I hear out in the
hallway.  From here in the bedroom at
three in the afternoon.  Reading the
biggest book in forever, The MIT Years.

Today I sit for a two-year evaluation.
My lover always has the higher score.
“We are in two different places,” I say,
and try to paint a picture of a map with
two figures: one scrappy with youth
and unsettled (blurry, or vibrating);

the other plump yet vigilant, knowing
where he’s going (his hipster boots
shackled to the floor with a disco
ball overhead, symbolizing a slight
dizziness).  One of us has been
watching a nephew grow up

on Facebook, amazed at how
childhood becomes awkward
youth.  The other keeps at
least one food on a ladder,
he’s heading up to the roof
now.  Hanging on to a star.