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us from up above to down below

 

it’s a terrible thing to do to someone. Nobody answers my questions. No-one answers. i traveled all the way here, through thin lines and metal slats and crumbles and crumbles i follow the crumbled edges of foil so thin to find my way and nobody will tell me what happened. Find a way. i found something along the way. i find thin. all away. so thin. i traveled all the way here to see if you are among the dead

 

out over view, down. ravine vision a flat surface speckled green and brown with blue that cuts thin. a hologram edge and me. on edge. above an almost never

 

as soon as i arrive the staff gives apologies about mistakes and lost lives and lack of food and dust in corners. they give me a bottle of water to wash away the travel. i hold legs between hold a strong stare into refractions of light. and wait.     here in a waiting room. i’m here. wait inside a fragment for answers. i lean heavy on a wall, it quivers dirty i lean. lean against bodies. we lean into dust. my legs tire. legs so tired i sit down on the unwashed floor. speckled surface an apparition. stand up again shift. Shift through thin. Sift through weight. wash away travel and smiles of regret with refractions embedded in plastic fluid. Nobody will tell me what happened. what happened. No-one answers. smiles of dedication. Nobody seems alarmed. just work. just this. just do. just a job. smiles of comfort. just another thick day stiff with standing. and finally they ask me who i am. how i got here. they search my car. they search. ask questions. search every bag and part and pocket and open. create space to probe. punctured those hands not mine fit full into voids. before never. here doesn’t belong to me after. they don’t believe anything i tell them. they tell me i was there. they tell me i was there and saw the whole thing happen. they ask. they ask me so many questions. so many they ask if i’m ok. After the search prod poke a gentle touch parts that i. i didn’t know. they feed me jello and fruit juice and pills and pills and tell me i’m in shock and don’t know where. they put me in a small square to fill out forms in, verify, put it all down. forms and blue ink and yellow lasers and fit and file and strap and resize and break it down and make allocations and divisions and tabulations and and and this is all nonsense and my bottle of water is already gone and i have to pee so bad

i don’t give a fuck about paperwork

or what they want from me

i know exactly. i know how. i know the what they. i why what to find. i know. even branded i say i’m stale and i slide slip quiet to find. around a tight. out of measurement. to see if i can. you must. must be over. run Over by ink and tabulations. i’m sure i’ll find you grey and clarified in spoiled ink. a punchline. out of sight barely out.

finally outside. i pull down pants crouch piss relief behind a car

 

come close. closer and i’ll whisper about the membranes in the air. i can hear you silent inside me silent. i never hear until you hit the ground. again and again again

 

there are bodies everywhere. no blood no violence just bodies. Everywhere i walk between. walk careful slide slip through. walk between. walk with. we Walk toward a speckled surface edge over stop stare. here too long too out and over. waiting for so long. wait.            i look for anything to recognize. anyone to remember. i look for you. stretched across the scene. my skin swollen and gray. we all look up stare open eye’d at the fighter jets circling above. Circles. gigantic shapes, crossed lines. thin lines cross through with ink in the sky. they hold me up in the air and i point. they stretch pull my arm out the length of a rope i can’t tell how long. can’t see horizon only up and point. and they had to pump my stomach this time and still no answers. i told you, i tell you, we were surrounded by pillowcase borders and goggles and the purplemen. you tell me the gray is an aftereffect. you tell us that we’ll feel better. you tell us that we’ll feel again. we’ll feel again. you tell us to taste the salt on our skin. you tell us to look up often. you tell us to stretch as far as we can look. you tell me to taste the salt on the back of my hands above the blue veins. i ask this time. you touch and taste and hold me for a moment. hemmed in. between bodies. and the small things. there piled with us. pockets. mossy branches. and my companion, i know is here somewhere. i call out and can’t hear my voice. i’ve had this feeling before, but i don’t feel it now. a need to call out. hear sounds from my wet throat. vibrate outside the blue lines. have you recognize the crossed through. recognize that i am not like the others. recognize that i am exactly like all the others. i look up and the fighter jets fly overhead again and circle. Circle closer ever closer. i know you look up with me. we’re so close. i don’t know where you are

 

i have the most terrible dreams

 

everybody woke up at the same time this time. because we all know it could be, this time. we know we might have to run. ready to run. the interruptions make us all accept stories of the sweet lemon rain. lemon rain they say. say it. it soothes and comforts. i smell the yellow before it comes in. the sound so smooth and quiet and subtle and room fills. covers my feet. covers my knees covers my thighs. covers my hips and stomach and ribs and breasts and shoulders and neck and nostrils fill with sweet lemon and it covers my head and there it is the i can’t. the i can’t breath. and i can’t breath and i can’t run with these quiet edges covered in sweet yellow. it moves up the walls up and up that ceiling up up that tall ceiling that ceiling up. i can’t see the top goes on keeps on. i try to reach as far as i can see that touch with yellow fingers and i know its right there. the lemon at the top. a room filled to a top, a top not there. no bottom either and no drain by design. nowhere to run. nowhere to turn. nowhere to float or rise. i look out across this expanse immersed underneath and only see yellow and floating pieces. floating pieces like holes in the lemon room filled with the sweet lemon rain

 

tell me about the porous night sky. tell me that the moon is a hole and that i can eat meteors as they fly through my stiff cheeks

 

white whiteness bone stares, it all comes back in a rush, appears a pinnacle, towards end. towards finding end but still a single point. a mouth uncomfortably dry. my wet throat the back of excessive sloppy stories with friends that indulge and spoil, soften and taint, find and uncover. you smell the stink on me while i tell my story. of bodies rubbing and lying on accumulated surfaces, dreams in a room together of softness. we lose the way that is up looking down. we sink into  sounds of bedsheets, soft stains. we move above surfaces to soften  shadows

 

thousands suffered irreparable injuries that day. i imagine you’re one of them, because you always wished to be in a grand disaster of thousands. to be witnessed in death. grieved over

 

you told me it was true and i think so too. there is no accurate description of a killer. it, and it lives inside. and i don’t want to think about it. and i know you don’t want to think about it. there is always a calm and the rest. but that’s not what i want not this way. i see you touch the edges of the brick sharp and bumpy while you walk slightly ahead     touch      stroke      someone at the side door is covered over covered over with foil, that thin foil. edges thin. you told me what you were going to do and i tried to talk you out of it. i knew. i knew i wouldn’t find you. not this way. No, they won’t tell me which one is you in this room full of metal cots and sheets and the smell of coffee and iodine

 

i fall in through the window, break glass screen splinter wood and never hit ground, just fall

 

a vision, a terrible vision, i go to you and you watch. You watch. You watch. You watch. You watch. You watch. You watch. you open your mouth slightly. i think you’re going to speak, such a subtle and a leaning, lean over to tell me something muted and exhausting. and no sound comes out just cold ocean water, it comes slowly. slow a leak. and keeps coming coming and doesn’t stop spills splatters out of your mouth. and i let it pour cold. Pour over me. wash over over. salt and minerals build up over my skin covers my eyes fills my mouth. i want you to take me to another place not this. i see that you, you try to tell me, i can see. inoculated by words turned into salt crust, you keep words and leave me with crystals. and i only hear a muffled, over the streams of water come out come at me. left with the only, only slight. taps touch tap, and you keep moving your hand in circles. point one hand up and move the other in circles. point, you point up at the sky and around up where we stand. i count history on your fingers circling. numbers repeat. fingers. one other, one another, one other time. fingers. the circles one, other, one after. you walk around me in circles closer ever closer. i reach. so close. captivated. pointing and circling. captive. a rush comes, onslaught, on over, washed over encrusted i can only return cold. to passages scrubbed clean, you and i left as traces, pieces of some picture turned face down with a corner torn off