jon

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home to oakland, and the first night spent
here. we each have locks on our doors;
each is left ajar, and this homecoming is made
complete by mutual understanding- in motion,
new lives, spread-eagle and seducing us both.

this man's footwear precedes him. hand-made
moccasins sit beneath our couch, and orange
boat shoes crush a fan beneath blankets layered
on the floor in an interim fashion. my mirrored
antithesis builds tiny houses, cookie cut in
synchronic anti-consumer consciousness.

art fags in early morning underwear, breakfast
mode, and milk steaming espresso machine
credibility. we leaf through "the male nude,"
observe specific information, bare supporting
details, and put fourteen thousand dollars to use.

learning to critique-- learning to tell another that
nothing is working, nothing is right, does not
mean we know anything of how to do it ourselves.
paying for time in the same room with thinkers
of great thoughts won't be worth a dime store
dictionary, unless questioning every turn is
elastic recoil-- rubber banded reflex.


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