Today, for pre-planned, futures-not-lining-up reasons, my lovely boyfriend and I broke up. It was raining while I drove back to Phoenix.
“Controlled burn: do not report” glows in safety orange
emblazoned among a sopping sky’s fall to earth
(the asphalt is soaked in the smell you call “wet” instead of “rain”)
as I tumble downhill into desert sand,
where I might hang these feelings to dry on clotheslines
strewn above the oneness of suburban riviera
along the disconnect of an empty swimming pool.
“Break up” carries the violence of ripping apart
these parts of a whole, my dear, or smashing to pieces
collections of the familiar,
a child new to limbs lost in the space of things:
what sort of holes do spaces within the atom
leave wounded in this universe?
How does the heart of the atom yearn for the distant linger of the electron?
And what power high does that electron get from pulling light
into the gray scheme of cloud’s fall from heaven,
bucking up the sadness of scene with the violence of
(parting lips was an exercise of muscle and magnetism, love.
I don’t know how I let go of your hand at all.)
This sign, blinking in its orange bulbs, though, tells the story
of a controlled burn;
the accident of lightning does not always beg for
I cannot help but notice
how the gray smoke rises halfway up
to the falling sky
in order to kiss in the middle.
*Guest post by the renowned Sirrah K. A. Pfotenhauer on his art project among nature this weekend.
When asked what the greatest contribution of humanity to the world is I answer with three words, two things: Flora and fauna. It is here where humanity excels beyond all other species. Where would the world be without the beautiful Butt of Cigarette? Do you really want to live in a world where no Toilette Papier is spread among the disgusting plant life that is trying to take over this wondrous planet? I, for one, do not. I even convinced the birds to join in the war we wage, as you can witness by the lovely spatter of fecal matter above.
Following the footsteps (wingsteps?) of the bird, I went ahead and placed a plastic bag of human shit near some plants.After placing various flora and fauna around some goddamn cactus/tree/bush/who gives a shit, I realized that the earth was really the problem. I decided that I would begin by placing a plastic bottle of alcohol, sans alcohol, inside it. Now I had the upper hand. To signify the shift in power positions, I smashed a bottle cap into the earth. Upon the bottle cap was simply written “Union Jack.” This, of course, is an homage to the British Empire, the great colonizers of humanity. God save the fucking queen and not anything else. Bless those goddamn Brits for mass production that they may or may not have started, but certainly use.
What more could one need in this world than mass produced shoes and a rag? Coor’s Light to get things started. At least, that’s where I started. After a small, plastic bottle of Jim Bean (priced at $7.99 before tax), I decided it would be a good idea to place an alcohol pipeline in the earth. It should be able to imbibe like the rest of us. Turns out the earth is actually a communist space traveler and drinks some beer called Red Moon. Guess I’m done helping this Bernie Sanders loving, teet-suckling bastard.
I’m preparing to leave Flagstaff for possibly the last time and can’t be bothered to sit inside and prepare for pointless finals. The weather gets nice during finals week a coincidence? I think not. Time to answer the tough questions, Rita.
In other news, I’m graduating. And the folks at Lost Compass Photography take some real nice pictures. They let you be silly, too, which is nice.