Room C-100

two collared shirts
choked by ties
discuss printer to
print philosophies
in stilted dialogue
blended with power
games, hidden
subtext of sex and
dominance/submission,

they go on and on
open gaps flapping

there's an unwanted
boarder, he's hitching a ride
laid out on the cabinets
behind them, head propped
up on stacks of unopened
white paper (yet for the
sacrifice of memos and
board reports) he's reading
some book without outed
numbers, about,

they shift and scratch
at fabric softener softened
lightness,

it's easier to ignore the
ruffled shirts

turning pages

the printer goes
bwah-ehhh-bwah-ehh-ehh-ehh

they check the digits
shirts and cuff links
swoon

Now I am here

emerald stones
washed smooth
dim in some cupboard
tucked away
far from the west
of their birth,

I am where you cannot find me

I have found the edge

sediment slowly settles

to bottom of jar

pink sand and memory 

collide, forgetting past lives

figuring on the soul,

I am where you cannot find me

I have found the edge

Van and motor are gone now

crushed in some junkyard hell,

tides drift slowly, back in back 

and forth, back and overtake the

land, there is more sea then 

you'll ever know, ever experience,

ever see,

I was where you would not find me

now I am here.