threaded by four

somehow i breathe
and the only thing
that confirms this
is the noise of my leather belt
rubbing
up and down my belly
like some boat
caught on an ocean
at night.

it's only friction
and even the tiniest of sparks
will burn a continent
to the ground.

here
on land,
i've got my arms
plugged into situations,
hugged by soil,
trying not to make everything wilt.

i squeeze
whatever is left
of my eyes,
and imagine
a better atmosphere.

cycles

the lull
of heavy machinery
occupies the distance.

over here,
in a maze of beer
we follow a piece
of greased up genatelia
attached to a string,
protruding
from our heads.

the angles
never lead
to any cents.

and every once in a while
when there is nothing left
but the drone
of our own image,

the sound
of that heavy machinery
gets
a little bit louder.

lineup

you place her picture
on the freshest part
of your wall.

you place her picture
next to your last,
and the ones that preceeded
your last.

and for each one
of those,
you had painfully constructed X's
out of felt tip markers
and memories
in the shape of prison walls.

this wall
has always been there,
but the pictures and their X's
have been weathered.

you pin her picture
next to the others
with the clearest
of tape.

you turn around
and walk the hallway floor
back to your computer.

you respond
to her email
that she wrote you
from her vacation in spain.