stillfugue

She spoke about the hammer,
the battering ram.

I have this battering ram.
It comes from the back of the mind,
but I wanted to correct her –
It is from the bottom of the mind,
trapped under seaweed, imperceptible.

This is where it comes from, the sickness,
the deep maroon plague and
long tree trunk attached and
it sneaks up on me and
hammers and hammers.

Boom, Boom.
My forehead expands.
It has giant bubbles growing larger and
my face is red like I have been drinking
a fifth of McCormick’s every night
for 50 years, and

the birds seem to fly in circles,
but they are simply ensuring that they don’t fly
anywhere near me.
Big birds with grey wings
like the patio of a building

where the executives go, the 7th floor,
the top floor, and since their company is so fabulous,
they are always on the balcony, and
they are always full of booze.
Big booze, in decanters tied around their necks, and

when the sun is setting,
it does not set on our executives.
it sets on the big bubbles coming out of my forehead,
but I sneak in the grocery store and

fill a bag with too many coffee beans , but
I’m able to close the top and twist the tie,
and the checker, as usual, doesn’t know
what number to punch
into her computer.

She looks at me as if
she might kill me,
as the intensity
grows.
Her fingers are quivering.
I think she might smoke a joint.

$8.99 per pound I tell her,
but she needs the fucking code and
doesn’t know that coffee is under C
in the product list,
but finally she punches it and
says “Yay,” and
she looks at me and
she asks, “Is that right?”
and I tell her,
“Why yes it is,
it’s $8.99
per pound, just as I thought.