March 2005 / Volume VI / Issue II
Jason A. Wilkinson

This is a weight of
events held fast; of the
things we've been eating
-without, disjected amid
the rocks an archipelago
of empty chairs
rotting in sodomy
in the office where they kept our notebooks and shot-glasses
on the lintel;
where ice cubes left a hole in my napkin,
making me temporally
slick beneath the push
of a wicker ceiling fan:
where pilasters hem flat seas w/
breath demarcated
valley naked showrooms
did Malvolio have a sister?
if he did she would live there,
a sphere among the ruined people
with ebon locks
lacquered by countless X's
and i bet if our eyes could
wipe tar/peep
through the glass of
binocular causeway:
nothing in the means through which we disassemble ourselves
nothing in the way we trail off nothing
to wear these tilted beams
kids fuck under the
dilatory branches;
mephitic in repose
forever punching
to blister
the sheenless day (radios fizzle)
bemoan polyester
and god some were toilet space some
dreamt to stop living.