/
On assignment,
sent by a friend at the agency, he wanders to his post.
Sitting at the desk, the cold, the machine noise and the dead faces,
babbling white music in all the open spaces,
he wonders, "Is this an exercise in stupidity?".
Quietly, through the mechanics of error corrections,
quality assurances, and the Dead Sea rumours he's motivated through the tedium.
No consolation.
He seals himself in an envelope, mails himself to himself,
knowing a way not to be discovered.
From the peripheral, out of the unknown, wandering in tasks,
Near him; The envelope realm jostled.
He don't care.
A corner of the envelope rips. It's the first time he sees her face.
/ |
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/
The firm has adopted him. A waif. At a chair, it is nowhere,
The doors open.
She needs a match to light a cigarette. He gives the pack to her.
She leaves to smoke. It's not an intrusion.
'¿hace sol en purgatorio?'
Returning with the matches, she gives them back to him.
The hands touch in a peculiar way that is not awkward. A charge.
Measurable, miserable, millivolts. The damned electric.
Put something real on it. Warm all over, shaking,
segments of the envelope burst on fire. Dashes. Stop the flame.
Confuso, de que usar, lagrimas o lluvia, el usé lo mano.
/ |
/
Driving around in
his car, he lunches on a smoke that takes him far away.
To a heaven.
Escape the grabbing, at an envelope, mailed to himself.
Send a valentine. He heard about her chopped and hacked forms.
Left for dead, the empty small minds from machine environments and their scalpel
tongues.
It was a set up. He don't care.
The hunger steers him to a deli and he asks for anything to eat.
Friendliness is inconsequential it's just good etiquette.
Pays the cashier and leaves.
She walks in, he ignores her, she ignores him and he glances back, .. for
a moment.
To see the sun in purgatory again.
To cry, to laugh, he reclines his memory back to a time when arms were bound,
bodies beaten, thrown out and left for dead.
Don't realize then, that later, knives would press, bullets would shred, shot
glasses could bash...
His head and eyes are in his car,
and it is back to the friends and the friendless.
Rusty and hell-bent surgeons ready to slice and explore with curiosity.
/ |
|
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/
..."behind the instrument is no
special place."
"The need to create is nothing."
"Survival is all important."
She runs through the changes, it's an easy song,
and they get easier and easier.
A land where there's no vision or touch, a good melody line,
the things of pure love.
/ |
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