let’s say it was something blue
let’s say it was something blue and saying it now does
let’s say simply blue and something to it like putting a spin on a bottle
in a circle of children a bottle spinning
spinning the bottle beer brown in a corner where saying blue meant bringing something
into saying
into something with something other than blue coming out of the mouth in two parts
one part being clatter or clutter
part clutter clatter being children in one green corner of the world
chatter clatter of the one green corner of the world spinning around children
spinning blowing round round clutter chatter of children spinning one beer brown bottle
battle for attention
let’s say attention
let’s say something about being at attention
at a tension
of strings
blue strings cording through shipyard bundles against the seashore sand shore against the reefs
or bottles bundles of bottles
bottled bundles of joy clattering over the seaside sand shore floor in all colors in one corner
or one color of all colors blue
again blue again
let’s say it with some grace
let’s say blue again and something other than the saying it again
like the measurement between teeth or tooth or tooth and nail
nailing it
a plate to a yellow wall
yellow walls big and small all around and inside green corners of green fields of corn
corning this close to meaning a flat matte finish against the left breast
or the right breast
either without shame save for the saying and appropriate saving of such like saving orange curls
of rinds
against shipwrecked bottle brown beers spinning in the corners of children carrying chattering on
in yellow four walled rooms
saying something

well not really, i thought i had an idea, but it was the idea of a thought that was the idea in itself, but when i tried to push it further it wouldn’t go anywhere other than “i’ve got an idea..” and well, since i already started on this idea of writing you a letter about an idea i thought i had, or rather, the idea of a thought of an idea, i might as well go through with it until the bitter end (“bitter ends with rhinestones and lemon twists”, now that might be an idea, but i’m not quite sure, just one of those things i suppose, but it’s still not an idea so i better give it up) as i’m doing so, now. of course one might say that this is a letter full of ideas but they’d be absolutely wrong, i mean, you mean something when you got an idea, not meaning that you mean something at that particular moment, whether you, yourself have meaning or not, but that when you have an idea, and you start talking about it, it’s got to go somewhere, and i’m getting nowhere with this, so i’d best leave you alone about it, i won’t bring it up again, so just ignore this message. i forgot why i started it already, it might have been an idea.

what you live for what you love for forever for one moment longer than all the rest for the pain to end to uncoil to uncoil yourself from yourself to be free of yourself and all that you see I see the edges become clearer I don’t think you can understand this edging this clearing that happens you can feel time move you suddenly feel time upon you on you moving away and back again another wave but a wave that has no ending
I told you it was the mortality in me the pressing of blood thick walls on your ears you can’t hear it can you the sound of this reality to hear this to see and hear what you are seeing and hearing two times two times sharper suddenly aware and awake in the middle of a nightmare and here we go the feeling that it’s all there every inch of it laid out before you and you’re not exactly seeing it isn’t the object of your attention but rather you are of it pressing itself on you at all angles at all edges
to come out of it to step away from it don’t let go of me love I don’t know what will become of me of us of me hold my head together I feel it fly apart at the thinking hush don’t talk about it please don’t say anything of our life ahead of us I don’t want to think of it in the dark not in the dark of this city in the middle of this nowhere where we all have lost sight of our senses of making sense of it

(Here you are, speaking) here I am with nothing but words, moving my mouth to mouth sounds.
(Here you are moving across sounds) sounds, to you. Sounds to you like jabbering in the back of the head, the skull, the skull head, like charcoal crumbling.
(In the midst of a fist against my temple) here I am crumbling before you trying to say something to you, in words, with words.
(Here you are crumbling away with words, in words) like words trying to push their way out of my mouth, my flesh mouth, in one piece and I can not help but chew them out to all the wrongs sounds, like flayed syllables.
(You can not help but be chewed mouth flesh syllables)here before you and after you, left with somewhat an image of you, of what I meant to say, of dust, of you and blue dust clinging to the walls.
(Of my blue self dusting against the words you have said) sure of how much has been lost, in the saying, in the speaking of this here before you. Of you not budging from this chair, out to, towards these words, torn and lost the minute I move away, to the minute, to time.
(Being lost in minutes of time trapped in words) I can’t speak but before you, and after you, as if you were moving across this stage, into and out of the words before you, after you, from me, from my mouth into the darkness of listening, to this crumbling.
(To this crumbling of you speaking I find myself) as if I was speaking, and the movement across the wood of this stage being this, of you as my words, to the stage. That the stage being trampled on was the movement of our voice and feet upon it, our meaning upon, the speaker in relation to our words and movement. Here I am speaking.
(Here we are speaking as nothing but a dead blue corpse being held) togther by a string of attention, of tensions, being your tension to these words that are leaving me, unraveling me, me unraveling these words as I speak them to you, because I speak.
(Unraveling before me) here I am, speaking, of all things. Of all the things to do, to have between us. To be left. To be left between us, like bones, like a field of blue chalk, crumbling corpses, trampled syllables and flayed stages. Of all the things to have.

without ANY sort of provocation ,this woman
all tits and curls, eyes all glittery
with some sort of sparkle under her eyebrows,
this woman comes out of NOWHERE
and slaps unto my chest a hand full of shit,
smilin’, winkin’ an eye like she don’t know
how bad the stink is,
NO REASON WHATSOEVER,
i don’t know her from a hole in the wall
and she says to me,
righteous, like she was preachin’, she says,
smearing this semi-still-wet brown shit all over my chest
she says,
“..what goes around, comes around asshole”
like i’m supposed to know what the FUCK she meant
like i DID something, waitin’ in the subway,
waitin’ for the fuckin’ A train
with SHIT slidin’ down the front of my shirt
in the middle of rush hour.