it's 2.28 AM
there won't be any passenger trains running
drowsy jazz, ennui
the kitchen table harbours
an empty bottle of brandy, a typewriter, & a full bottle
the thin rainforest of moonlight
peppers the window
w/ languorous korean war film stills...
yesterday's ny times
the perimeter of the living room; syndicated episodes of
Jeopardy! on mute
all around me is arranged a toybox of memes
drops onto the turntable depicting
lost in the gloom of its pleasures
the hospital-white ceiling seems a backwards landscape
from such a specific geography
this promising premise
on promising premises, i.e. from these
my grandparents' vacation fotos of the heartland
through my own vermont summer
piloting hot-air balloons through the ingénue rain...
the criminal speculations of the imagination
a ream of paper
collapsed into the housewives' depression
of the ashtray...
eleanor is asleep on the couch
a threadbare quilt
alloyed around her torso, i can see the vhs cassettes of
john ashbery readings,
police procedurals on the coffee table...
the typewritten violence: the math, the lowercase
letters; shape, trajectory
on these cold, bleak winter days slowly forthwith
half-finished crossword puzzle
cable & tweed
an empty bottle of pinot noir, steady as she goes
on w/ life...