:: Jennifer Firestone
from Flashes
(click here to view images of Jennifer's chapbook, excerpts from Flashes)
The rectangle above is bone dry today and today is the day we change our views. We see the bubbled wall in CHANCE as a new addition to neighborhood development not bad, old gentrification instead we say together: beautification. We are hot. Hotter. Red devils wagging our tails, steam from throats coating observing trees. We flip silver communicators, open our compacts, press our tiny palms, we´re linked in one huge network, migrating gray upon gray.
*
Unpoured like animals from the ark we became friendly, like old days we offered each other liquid, put away green bills, undid our jackets, clustered.
We approached a bridge, began to walk, the idea of home was in us, we left behind the working wise man, we sang a railroad song, we chimed as cow bells, we had gotten immense, flown up the food chain from ants to big people, returned to our human states with our human face that shared the same questioning and sensitivity, we were ferocious in our love again.
*
From 1-4 am he listens to the buzz of UFO sightings she chimes in about Lily Town the town of female mediums. At night in a forest they get up on a stump and do PR for their clairvoyance. This is a tale within a tale. I have no ghost stories because I am a ghost, I have found an imperceptible way of unwashing visibility within a city construct. I´m not seeing anything.
*
He said he knew there was presence because there was more than enough light during a dark hour and under his pillow he went. She said he died but didn´t feel the thick of grief. Hunting for ectoplasm, hearing noises mostly from my own circuits. We sense climbing temperatures and therefore go swimming. We have no pool so we take moisture on our skin. We are wet in a dry space. It´s like religion he thinks this tall taling, or a recipe. We make our mind privy to it. Turning off this last second.
*
My she has pretty hair and lips my she is wound up today today today the city day of talking. She is on the screen that went on when my littlest toe approached the wood crack. She is starched and suited and disinterested in weaklings. She has the latest and I turn down the blinds.
When it is damp there´s no forgetting, your skeleton shivers it in. It´s painted out there through the glass and if you power on it will be detected. Despite the birds scratching the branches there is nothing happening. You want a jolt, a blender action, so you enter a long silver tube and jostle, your spokes twisting from your protective receptacle, you use black and white on your hair for extra coverage you´re wrapped in plastic, impermeable, a well-wrapped item. A voice alerts. Elections chortling, searching for slogans to be repeated recorded repeated because they believe only when necessary is key to their politicking and lots of brothers sons sisters have gone dying here here here.
*
Determined by where you grill your food if you are on top and look down you are okay and if you have a wall around your cooking you are better, you may have those surgically-equipped clamps and jabbers to get good roasting done. But if you are at the bottom you are in a lot with cans, cats, alcoholic beverages. You are plastering tar with frankfurters and forks. You are being the loudest to become visible in between green and mean black walks.
To not walk when stuffed, when willing to walk away from words and be like cotton. To see that decisions must be made on what is best for you, when production´s down the idea of slowing with it is preposterous.
You send/sent the little message droopy bow and hope through buzzing it receives gets received and has with hope favorable outcomes. Quick tear out the rubber, the report flutters in that world, will be lit in one hour. Fuzzy with fuzz, obedient.
*
A Quick Update:
Many reported anxious with social issues in particular in relation to habitat. Due to health, heat and other unknown circumstances all drugs are now unavailable and so we just stay home.
Red Alert:
The elite and the artists frustrate the others, the outters in purple panic, have you seen the swath today what rainbow are we in who´s doing the mural. We are all better than ourselves and we keep saying fame, the rattler buried away. We are about change, action, lights and visibly.
*
You can see morning flicker like the new egocentric. You can say orange is immediate. You pile strappy objects, gloss your big skin, here you come to the wilderness where everything is brick and stone, trees are really smaller infrastructures, transmitters, shiny poles concealing communications. The flowers are people flying on bikes, the air is really boxes lived in and space is only in a word until that itself is formed. You see the orange flower, you think it´s reminiscent of something but it remains unidentifiable.
Revving up their power bodies they lift off to space, the fling of their motion leaves us grappling for our own breathing valves. Dumbfounded and dumber still we are late for employment and all passages seemed derailed. If you buckle you can grasp a twanging pulsar, take a ride, meet your deadlines.
*
The masterful plan of medieval torture, we watch the bowed men kneeling on knees we are reminded that we too are remnants held together. We dip with the first blunt stroke, we wobble with the lack of the spinning top to let go, become game. Bound to image bound to orange. Bound to language.
Are you listening screen this is about you and me living. This is about god. This is about heroism. This is about no stars tonight. Wails. This is about the heat that burst and continued. Wails. This is a eulogy to the living. This is an emotion/less time.
© Jennifer Firestone 2005