Laura Feldman
from Lawnpaint Application
what loops. We have dirt under our fingernails with integrity.
Losing slips of paper and forgetting names. I don't walk thru my days
with an open mien which fools rush in thru.
Perforce finding the event of walking. Having had no one introduce
me. The beta stream. High brain wave voltage. Sleep spindles,
endless utterances. Using the day as an excuse, the interim. Not
where were going but as we're busy making plans. I think about the
drought in this context: we as a people cannot cry capriciously off
camera. The water bureau told us to inform on one another if caught
unnecessarily thereby wasting. Not letting this water fall just
anywhere. Storing them up. Apply lawn paint. Suspiciously I water
my waxworks surreptitiously thereby not conserving time. What a sad
routine how really very sad. The inviolable numbers. The paper does
create an event. The paperwork stacks up. That's why teaching
someone something for money is crucial. I would secretly rather
continue to remove the ads and make my own song. Don't bother
watering the soul. If the rains come perpare for a wet winter.
Prepare for the next event. Every time you call her machine I imagine
you on the sidewalk in front of her house doing the water dance. As
cards creating global warming my mind is made up. Frequency
attenuates, abates. You could make it handle itself.
No longer having to think about it. It doesn't fit. I roam carrying
a heavy bag full of details still looking for inbetween shots of
canvas spare paint borrowed bits of ego freshener.
My favorite place is not the chairs and tables outside of the cafe but
the space across the street covered by trees where the stones steps
lead up to the front porch of a house no longer there. But this
Morning I was socially disclosed: not one of the static quo taking
over the tables and not one of the homeless who have the steps to the
structure that will someday be there.
Copyright © 1996 Laura Feldman
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