The Thing Is

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                "Reality has a way of erasing the fantasies of anticipation with the cold splash of disappointment."

- Pearl Ross Pearlman

"Jesus Christ," he shot.
Like a Russian sunset
there was no bleeding.
"Call the pharmacy"
So Gulyak and the twins waited in line
the tart taste of whips licoricing their
brains, like pocket cash
"Fuck" he said again, (in English,
then added, a little quieter, into his shoes) "ни хуя́".
"Did you know that the kiwi was a bird"
Oly's lips asked me
the question floated
"like a flightless bird?"

the thing is, what is
the thing when people say "the thing is?"  And why didn't they start off the conversation with that thing that is "the thing" in the first place.  It's just parlance, prosody, but perchance one wonders how many “things” thought up are still floating out there because, the thing is, nobody ever got around to bringing them down by bringing them up, a series of false starts, a series of initiations sans finality, an infinity of, well, things.  Only, the thing is, it's singular in't?

Been thinking about

Been thinking about

Been                      

 Been thinking about been thinking
  Been thinking about
  Been thinking about

The thing is,

not really been thinking about anything much of late.  The possibilities are vast and illuminating until they stop being considered and then they are just vast.  A vast nothing.  Like the Atlantic at night, from space.  When did we all lose our own ways to fly?  It’s free, people, you don’t need to pay for this. 

You don’t need to give people money and permission to spy on you because it’s trendy.

slip out of rational linearity, never ever play the bass drum.  I played sax.

The diver stands, the scuba diver strokes, the precarity of sexual tension … is unwanted.

Where do

the deposits of months go?

It's October now.

Cold knees buckle their caps out of bed, get back down there, get back up,

an aesthetic of pretty skies, short afternoons, no twilight and long dark tumblers of dreams.

It turns out the thing is made more difficult by darkness, most things

are 'cept hearing.

such inexorable permission I have yeilded to foolishness

reading coffee, the french girl will say, his life, so short,

The thing is I thought

I would be starved for nuance and mystery, but the thing is an unimagined joy usually comes in the morning.  Perhaps all the thinking was always meant for night, the background thing was black or blue, is it now?  Not yet.  And yet that changed and I did not protest.  Change that you can live with, a proposition: to protest or not?  I did not.  Poll closed.  Where was my indignation, my fiery heart charting yearning emblazoned spirals on a course with the familiar embrace of oblivion. I did not feel these dance shoes slipping away; rather, I felt my soles entering into a new comfort calm beyond turning and hurrying.  Not a tunneling, but a blossoming into vectors of myself most unfamiliar. 

The thing is

Need the guide to Read the guide because to feed the guy I

am going it aloneno faith in the body tostay upright andyetitdid

Holding hands their heels
dragged around the alley
“Nice smack, Jack”
The shouting shadow twins project
on the lattice laced façade
so “stop yr yelling” he yammered
through his beard
one of the beardiest since the razor,
sliced open the secret door
and the air, placid and porous,
was disinfectant on a tile floor.
The only fruit her eyes spied
on sale were long expired.

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