tell me

She tells him: don’t forget to breathe. He, walking at her side with a leisure, breathes. Slow. She tells him, don’t forget why you came here. He thrusts his palms forward. They move their tongues against their teeth. She tells him it is a something-o-dontal. He tells her about a language called where everything came from and she does not remember. He tells her because it was the first word ever and she tells him she knows because she is saying it. He wants to give up, it is taking too long, he says. She tells him, stay. She tells him pick your color and put it in your eyes until it crawls over everything. He asks her can it move and she tells him it will if he wants it to. He tells her that he doesn’t have experience with the sticks she is always using to pick up her noodles. She tells him learn now. She tells him a tiny house is a concept for the chrysalis and womb but not for craftsmanship. He asks her does she have boysenberry anything and she tells him berries are only good for pie. She tells him berries are too round for her mouth sensors to find if she tries to eat one. He tells her hold it by the tail but watch out for the snout to snap her way. She holds it out to him, she tells him she doesn’t want it. He tells her would she like a highball and she tells him yes please extra ice. He tells her he put his thumb so far down a fishes mouth one time she tells him she could not it might ruin her polish. She tells him it was nice to visit but she has to shower the young birds. He tells her just a while more and her cheeks will swell with delicious notes of string and percussion. She tells him she hasn’t practiced since she moved out of the house on the lake. He tells her keep it keep it if you don’t like the taste spit it out but don’t wrap it in plastic and let it expire.  He tells her if she wants to try it don’t tell the neighbors. She tells him have you heard from them across the road and he tells her his account has been closed for three weeks. She tells him he is an accumulation of zeros organized in organic design. He tells her he doesn’t use electronics, he tells her why should she see the inside of his flesh if he cant swim. She tells him learn now.  She tells him holding a music note in a human hand is nearly impossible and he should try. He tells her he has paws with no thumbs. She tells him a baby rabbit was outside of her window one morning and she saw her father shoot a bullet into it’s baby belly. She tells him life is not always this wonderful. He tells her baby things are meant for mothers, not bullets. She tells him she eats the babies of animals, sometimes. He tells her does it taste good and she tells him no because babies are meant for mothers. He tells her his poetry is being read to the prisoners to keep them mindful of the world. She tells him she has no mind for poetry only cartoon drawings and he tells her drawing and letters are made of lines. She tells him her body is getting sore from all the sitting and he tells her would she like to dance. She tells him what is dancing but a repetition of average movement. She tells him all repetition makes it interesting. He tells her please write to remember the world. He tells her to write a letter to put it in her book of other letters except mark this one with a blue pen. She tells him to leave, that she must go to the young birds. She tells him does a letter mean more than paper and ink and he tells her no.  She tells him she will write, and if her fingers don’t stop she will keep going until she dies. He tells her his t-shirt lets the sun rays touch his skin and it burns until it is pink. He tells her he does everything to not let the rays touch but he is a human and programmed for error. She tells him error is a change in decision and he tells her he knows.

a prose of performance

they say there were over 7000 languages spoken in the world. they say that people, not environment, are the dynamic forces of culture. i feel droplets of assimilation fall from the gutters of my generation and the dog is barking. English is the official language of 60 countries and about 400 million people speak in a native English tongue. does interpretation stand a chance when his asshole brother is constantly correcting my grammar? prescriptive, descriptive, i get it but not many listen to the two a day directions. and of those 7000 languages worldwide, many are disappearing at a rapid rate. if we dont put our words on the page now they might be forgotten once we're gone. we dont speak the same language. what anchors itself to my mind when i leave the theater is not the proscenium. say something absurd and people will remember. there is a common logic stored somewhere in the database of humanity and when interrupted, the most colorful cyclones appear. the third man might be called john or vanessa but you dont deem that necessary, do you dr. h? perhaps ambiguity introduces creativity. perhaps it reduces the miniscule and magnifies the, well, giantess.  i think an overdose on lucidity murks the shallow water of our thoughts and that is where the language phenomena reside. we  shuffle our feet in the ocean near the beach to uncover those fearsome monsters lurking beneath the topmost layer of ground seashell bits. the metaphor is not the shuffling, but an image of a young adult performing a forward-moonwalk off the shore of the pacific. not my moonwalk. drawing is the hand directing a computer mouse across the screen. a stylus across the interface. a charcoal across the canvas. blood across the rock. singing is the vocal chords contracting. speaking must be singing. music is the fingers, the hands, the feet and for dancing you would say the same. theres a thing called syncretism taught by a man using words in the right way. it's the merging of ancient and new traditions of a culture to please both parties. its also called a settlement but you dont want to because settle comes from the latin base "sed-" out of which grows a rich layer of soil at the bottom of the river and you shouldnt hold your breath that long because youre killing brain cells every second. we want uniquely named color. we want inforseeable designs and to push innovative needles through our flesh. i see my word on a page, my word on a neighbors arm, my word on the front of a birthday card and i am relieved of my race for originality. i watch as my words solidify and drop like wax when you say them because they arent meant to be said that way. they arent prescribed for that purpose. i watch homogenized readers move their lips and my insides curdle. a text too easily read is one easily forgotten. i wont direct the actors. (they say the word "actor" no longer has a feminine and masculine form). Chapter 1 tastes sour, lets use roman numerals to sweeten the base. they can dance across the page, in what formation though? perhaps a diamond-o-gram or parallactic oval. im certain the bees dont smell our fear, but relentlessly chased the poet who decided it was so.

the family

daughter: the babies were here. you can tell because of the way the grass is indented: rather than be broken at the base of the blade as would be the case under 100 pounds or more, the blade looks folded like an accordion because of the lesser weight a baby carries.

mother: who taught you that?

daughter: doesn't matter, does it?

mother: does it?

daughter: (clutching hands to sides of head) DOES IT?

mother: I'll fix you a blackberry muffin. got the recipe from the woman down the road who sells her cookies and things from her garage.

daughter: (takes a bite, considers the taste) it is delicious but I've never been able to think clearly after blackberry.

mother: well then give it here, I'll take the berries out

daughter: take them out? why then it wouldn't be a blackberry muffin anymore!

daughter: not anymore.

mother: I'll have it just the way it is, then.

daughter: watch out for that stone

mother: (points) that one?

daughter: that's it. it's been moving for days, I'd assume it'll be here in the exact spot we're standing some time soon.

mother: well what am i watching out for?

daughter: so it doesn't roll over you and crush your bones into the dust you're kicking around right now.

mother: that's a good thought. I suppose I owe you something now.

daughter: a favor?

mother: sure

daughter: here, then, help me get this knot out of my shoelace.

mother: what do you have a shoelace for? to lace up your bare toes?

daughter: (looks down at feet) where did my shoes go? thought you'd play a prank on my while I'm saving your life, huh?

mother: i don't have any use for your shoes. got my own right here. (pats bag hanging from shoulder)

daughter: its a national crisis, the shoe crisis

mother: what about the acrobats?

daughter: what about 'em?

mother: they're not wearing shoes. they don't want to. so it's not their crisis.

daughter: (squints into the distance) here! here they are!

mother: get the blanket, they're going to be cold.

daughter: (to babies) did you find it?

mother: they're too small, bet they couldn't see over the bushes.

daughter: did you find it?

babies: no. we're too small, couldn't even see over the bushes.