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listen

So he�s melting into the floor and I don�t have any more rope to throw him. I tried six ends of sheets tied together, my shoe laces, half damp cardboard, a dachshund, my hands as a last resort. But now my fingers are broken and I�m losing my energy and the stained grey office remnant carpet is up to his nostrils, tiny ripples where his breath comes out. And our demons are laughing, and our parents are laughing, and our high school guidance counselors are splitting themselves with smiles as large as the space between a dream and a paycheck. As large as the bitterness and self doubt we impart to one another; bequeathing hopelessness as our last parting gift to a dusty planet. And I look up from this place on my knees beside his widening eyes. Way up. To my own reflection and my trite told-you-so hair and the way I can�t wrap my arms around anything anymore � I can�t even reach around my driftwood self.

So I sit in a five dollar arm chair with the remote control resting on his head. Rabbit in blue headlights. Invest myself in the way that it constantly changes in less than three seconds, image to image. Never bored never solid never content. Engrave your initials in my trunk. Bloodletting seeping sap.

I can�t watch him sink so I listen subconsciously for silence.

I can�t handle the noise so I listen for silence.

I listen.

I listen.

I listen�

~Photo by Dennis Mecham

10:21 a.m. - 2005-03-17
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