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knot meat
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she was moving out of her apartment. he had gone to see her as a last resolution, as a packing away. but it had spilled out, the walls were suddenly reclothed as the familiar walls. on the carpet, knees burning, handfuls of hair and skin, and the emptiness, nothing to grab onto in the room, but particle antiparticle. railroad workers, driving a spike, wiping their brow with mutual pride, the holder the driver, switching and switched, pushed onward by something they're told is bigger than them, but feels like their own. and it doesn't matter where they went, their bodies would seem to clean it, make it habitable. this could be a field somewhere, a crowded marketplace, the surface of a neutron star as they're torn apart by gravity. a hip is pushed, circles meeting and overlapping, like clapping ripples in a pond. the blank wall, no television, nobody watching. and hard like the floor, empty, stripped to essentials. this is supposed to be an ending, why does it feel like a beginning? sighing, slowing, the whole story of the room is told in an hour - moving in, making it your own, restless nights, safety, pain. his back aches, knees burning, her back burning, knees ache. this is what he takes for granted in a house, in her, everyday they spend lounging about here or there. you can shout at the top of your lungs. you won't be near your neighbors again. they won't have looks for you in the morning. you're a sunset, an accident on their way home from work, on someone else's freeway. something they can like or dislike, envy or loathe, but not touch. they can't try to smarmify or dissect. the room was unchristened and christened, and to both of them, something about their love was suddenly more essential, wasn't so much that the bed invites any two, or that a television invites company. a sparse room, might as well be the insides of their skulls in the darkness, in what eternity could possibly be like. and as long as there was something hard to push against, they'd push against each other. there'd be the details to work out, the new place, the old one too small, the hurts they caused each other decreasing its value, but there would be more, and more. a bucking conclusion, the floor remains, and then sighing, laying, staring up at the ceiling as if there's nothing above it, no one holding them down. it was pure. small in the scheme of things, but as real you'll feel another.
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040428
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