TWO THOUSAND CITY AND TWO
Background music. Background. A thousand page textbook, Art Through the Ages, squared off on a drink-rimmed coffee table. The light has melted the candles sitting too close to the window, and they are prime for restless fingers. What happens when the sleep covers the eyes and crusts them still awake? What happens still awake?
The backseat is still breathing. I can make out the vinyl among suitcases of days left to spill on its surface. The weekly planner, a dear diary, a novel to leech water from a stone. What need is there for words when history lives on floorboards of Volkswagens?
I told of a dream and I stopped because I told of a dream and I stopped because I remembered you were there.
We bifurcated the days according to the calendar of light and dark. We bought a dog. The city never stopped.