etp vi / collaboration

We Didn't Read the Sounds

[Ghosts live in the hallway.]

I read a story about a hallway. You were in it. Me too.

I hate hallways. They separate rooms.

No. They join them. Weave them. You don't like weaving, do you? I like weaving. Once when I was young I wanted a woven bag - my mother wouldn't buy it for me, so the artist gave it to me.

It was weird.

I wonder - had I been crying? Did I scare away the better customers? Did she try to get me to leave?

I remember the wildflowers in Dallas.

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*I don't know how to format this into two columns.

My bad temper
clears a room with a switch.

willow wallowing
I sweep everything onto the floor
crunching into fine bits
the frustration of numerous complaints,

destruction of the day
the satisfaction of free movement,
length of arm uninhibited

the morning's many
'authorities of the human condition'
Criticisms so stupid
petty Fistpumps for offensive phantoms.

A word of advice volleys a backhand of teeth.
Blunt, clumsy
but shocking in the manner of deployment.
Boorish behavior of one, but
twice more repeated

oh, pudding academia
the gravity of cubed jello

wobbling masses
moved
by nothing less than earthquakes

I hear my friend rush hurriedly out the door.