OTHER PEOPLE’S PICTURES

And how have you set up
to live –
above the snack shops, next to the train?

The soppy cold. Popsicle lips in winter – how is that so grunge?

Always naked, always on fire, always fine.

Names in glitter. The glue loops and then you shower it in light. You are pulling your mini van up to the graveyard, now you’re driving on the grass, over the graves.

Some other people's pictures.

And here it is: men and women slumped and crawling: they’re specific, legs folded on their mattresses, working carefully, channeling power into tighter space, crawling towards the doorframe, then inching back, making tracks, screeching out –

A knock on the grey dawn door – hello is there a day in there?

Knocking until someone hears. No matter how sick they are, they will hear. And come. To the door. Crawling like a tripped up spider, legs entangled, everything braided, everyone bedridden
then sitting down to finally
work.