oh, renoir

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
desire that is not insistent but coincident. cuz an end in sight is both tired and tiring and nothing like the centering of kissing

textual relations/e-ruptions
you live on an island, and i held yr hand. there is no end to my capacity for nostalgia, but there is a beginning. it is the end.

and the train is here, and i am here, and nina is here. and the pianos are swelling. they are calling forth. at first delicately, then defiantly. a chance meeting, an awkward greeting, the book i'm reading. the ecstatic moment on the avenue followed by the melancholy of acoustic guitar. the saddest thing is inadequacy unexpected. but would the points point to the sky? could they? to the lives and lines, painterly and practical, of cables directing bodies back and forth, up and down, in and out of heaven - not a place, but a point of suspension (of suspicion), in which the abbreviated infinitely expands and is still and loops. the rope past yr ankles and into yr pants and around yr waist and through yr pubic and chest hair and under yr armpits and behind yr ears, binding yr eyes closed/clothed and yr mouth open. breathing. trembling. the song to/of the siren is the anticipated, the speech i insert here and am yet to hear. but i can imagine the green plastic bag placed under the seat to wait now sliding down to me. the clothes inside - haphazardly folded, athletically soiled. are yr eyes open, and if not, are you tired or nervous or tired of being nervous? if i untied the green plastic knot and removed a thorny branch, i'd tell you to grasp it and i'd ball a sock in yr mouth to prevent you from sighing, for in this way, you'd be singing. place yr palm on the book until it is re(a)d. don't move until you hear the locomotive squeal of guitars. and when you do . . .

we meet. we take off our shoes. when we part i put on shoes that are not mine. they are full of broken glass. i am walking away from you and my feet are bleeding.

it was nice to see you again. and nice to kiss you again. familiar, even, not cuz i've had it so often, but cuz the symmetry of skin. soft faces escaping. two red lights hovering in a fog of snow and then splintering into a dotted line that speckles the horizon. lines makes sense sometimes. like now, like growth. can we prune it here like a bonsai? keep it miniature and manicured? keep hands in back pockets of jeans warm. moving, yes, swirling, even. but not detaching. we met through each other's knees. touching under a table. ("they slow their walking even more, and each reaches for ways to manage nearness to the other without seeming responsible for it.") our acquaintance was confirmed when i fell down and you fell too. was it snow or a white sheet?

look back once and you reappear. look back twice and you re-disappear. the turn of orpheus and the re-turn of saturn. both, the arrival at analogical relationality. in the mirror, a blue shirt is worn. outside out, it just a naked chest with carpet burn and snake-bitten neck and wrists. dolls. push the child against a patterned object. a bare ass on a bare mattress on a bare wooden floor. wood. would? somehow related to how related are feeling nothing (numbness) and feeling everything (prickling). you got wood? yr prick prickling? pricking? a needle-head, a point of blood, a tongue tip: tired of expulsion and consumption, at once rich and bland. toeheaded candyfloss. can there be embrace without enclosure? can there be figures cut in symbols baltic and proletariat who don't hide but rather harness and protect another world, a need, a desire, wet and warm as deer guts, indivisible? kinda like the figures and symbols are like degrees and i want what's inbetween (days/daze). i want to weave a pretty leash that will catch what's there in a slipknot and reel it in (around the fountain), but not take it out. swim with it. be learning to swim naked and at night. why the opposition between flight and water? between smoke and water? ours will be a flight through water signaled by smoke. and vigor.

how do we keep from constantly collapsing on stage? the street and the prizefighter. the frail and the father. i want to invite you into my mausoleum of a room and embrace you with the innocence of drunkenness. like no one knows and no one knows how. like the scars on yr chest and the precious scent of yr breath.

lips pucker and a train moves underwater. you exhale and yr mouth fills feathers. you spit them out and snow falls from yr mouth. drool icicles form cavernous between yr head and the bed. between yr mouth and my mouth. between my knee and the man who sits next to me. to the right of me. you will serve me dinner. you will serve me. father's body to eat. cuz i can tell yr heart isn't ripe yet and his is. i can see the leaves still growing where yr eyebrows ought to be. a snowman with fruit eyes. a gullet warmed by sour mash whiskey and pants full of blood. the excuse of a hug. the excuse to run fingers over spine. to spill. bones. and reconfigure.

the yearning of illicitness that accompanies containment in a small midwestern town. the promise of naivete in a cornfed boy.

sunrise through airport window. getting lost (get lost) in the reflection. the sun/son's face. replace the face with body angular and awkward - tennis shoes, jeans, black pullover, backpack. a caffeinated body staring at the back of yr head (or the reflection of it). the bleating of saxophones and the color of mountain dew. what would happen if i led you in a waltz right now?

here is the dilemma: beating you gives me just as much of a boner as does the tenderness of a soft kiss. to navigate between the two is a language without words, one that constantly affirms transgression and acceptance. kneel in the corner and swallow a banana. blow the head of a dandelion, scattering seeds one by one. gliding over the gurgling of laughter.

maybe you can recognize the death inside, the curve of the earth, the point that is always there and always finite, but that is perpetually slipping away, not slippery, but like grasping at fog and realizing the gaping emptiness to which you cling. gravity rolls a body down into a meadow. the magnetism of the core of the earth. a thick hard pole harnessing you. a tetherball wound and unwound and bobbing. twinbed intimacy and sex outside. as much as this moment marks progress, it also marks stasis in the stopping of time, in the unmediated directness of light reflected in a mirror or off a scale. the scintillation of what happens. a closed-(body)-circuit. an austere circus.

LOOK!
bobby neel adams
klaus biesenbach's house tour
chicks on speed - super surfer girl
dik fagazine
diller scofidio + renfro - governor's island
everything but the girl - on my mind
hajen - moonshiner
oscar scar
red army faction leader "is free"
saturday night live - the lost works of judy blume - gertie
shakin stevens - cry just a little bit
sophomore
sunday sun
swedish city hit by youth riots
anna ternheim - summer rain
tough alliance - the last dance
un split over homosexuality laws
wendy + lucy
world's robot population rising

LISTEN!
bridal shop
le corps mince de francoise
magic wands
morrissey - i'm throwing my arms around paris
n.a.s.a. - gifted
ac newman - submarines of stockholm
praveen + benoit - @ a loss
salem
school of 7 bells
tomihira