Ella Valentine—a contemporary sculpture

and ceramist. She created this mug

in the form of an elephant;

created? The cup made of clay

where, within, Walt Whitman's body lies—

his soul now resides

in this elephantine cup. It was cast too much

in creation—contributing to its overcast

coloring. Before cupping the clay

Ella claimed having never seen an elephant:

I take up this earth in my hands; cupped

escaping my compression. I must create

that which grasps at what is not—

a ridiculous form that tramples convention.

I strive for something only Cthulhu dreams.

They are drawn to it—its aura;

this creation is not mine to claim

its primordial abstractness.

I ran fast. I ran fast as I could

past the zoo—it was clear the keepers were late

they hadn't fed the giraffe.

Yet they still found my uptown house—

no doubt they intended to prevent me from sale

at the market next morn.

I ignored that wind (during the storm

which didn't cast branch to-and-fro

across my door) or their rapping at my door.

It was in pieces—no, it contained my coffee

so well. I pawed at the mess. Serrated.

I cannot bring myself to its destination

Perhaps, by insidious transaction, I may transfer

their interest to some other poor soul—

it was all.

I sold it to a brown-bearded man's daughter,

to whom it seemed familiar—but it couldn't.

She described it in a passive form of the word elevated.

Coffee stained mornings you still consider night,

you haven’t shut your eyes since math class earlier,

Today, yesterday, shit!

Math class!

You grab your garb and bag,

arrival a minute before isn’t late.

Fuck, wrong notebook.

Math is as foreign as Chinese anyway.

I enjoy 2 a.m. conversations, especially with her.

My suitemates disagree on the matter of taxation.

While I, don’t get me wrong,

foreign policy is important to me too,

but I prefer discourse of stars,

and, if time-travel existed,

What are its ethics?

What are the implications?

Resultative complements are used to express

the result of the first action.

Staying awake for this lecture is critical.

You certainly meet some characters on the journey,

some more malicious than others,

String after String binding round your joints,

twisting in knots.

Swaying awake for this lecture is critical.

Repeatedly writing stroke after stroke,

etching every one into pink matter,

the chanting is hypnotic by nature.

Swaying away from this lecture is crit…

STAYING awake…

just readjusting in your seat,

no one saw that.

Burning down your throat,

the complimentary coffee from the break room.

But, it relights the lamps just as kerosene on a smolder.

For two shifts,

it’s only fair.

Only for a trickle down a skinny stream,

that are your finances.

The mask is hollow,

Maintained by that burnsome brew,

lest it crack away.

But they smile back,

back,

            just lean,

back,

BACK of the chair… needs readjusting too.

You’re like an inexperienced man on stilts by this time,

respondent to the direction of your tipping,

your steps;

Lifting just to catch yourself and continue going.

How’s it going? Tired?

– nope

smoldering spark,

adrift amid frozen feathers,

who’s lick culls memories,

destined for release,

left solemn,

frigid,

uncertain,

—a saturated cinder.

Yeahsowhenshesmiles,

icanthelpbutsmileback,

Aweekago,whenisawher,

Icouldnthelpbutthinkofhowmuchofanidiotiam,

Iwanttotalktoher,

Iwanttospendtimewithher,

Ithinkofexploringbookstores,

Goingtothemovies,

Goingonwalks,

Withher,

Wheniseeheritsonlyovergreatdistances,

Whenispeaktoheritsonlyahelloinpassing,

Hetreatedherwrongandiwaslefttoreflection,

Shelikesmeandilikeherandnowallshewantsis:

Space.

Standing,

The breeze,

Blowing,

The sand,

Soft,

Soft like the sheets that covered our bed in the house we shared, only sandier

I remember standing there that night, thinking

Thinking about all the questions, questioning

Questioning all the why’s, why I was so cold, why I…

Standing,

There on that night outside,

Of everything,

Standing,

Standing still whilst the people rushed by, seemingly unnoticed I stood,

It was hot that night, one of the nights in the summer when the air is not so,

Sharp,

Sharp, I felt it,

For an instant,

For that instant, sharp was that which pierced my body,

The sharpness was piercing through my body as I…

Questioning all the why’s, why I was so cold, why I couldn’t move…

I turned over in the bed to see her face, I wasn’t resting well that night,

To see her face was resting enough for my soul,

My soul,

For that instant, in eternal reoccurrence I laid,

I laid, leaden weighted to the piercing sharpness, that pierced my soul when I saw..

When I saw,

I saw the sun creeping over the horizon, crawling through the border between the nether and the morning,

I saw the gulls, gliding over the red glazed ocean

I saw her,

She laid,

There,

Leaden,

Laying, her eyes,

Empty, empty of the beauty and resting gaze that they gave,

Empty, empty

Glazed grey,

She

She is…

She is…

Standing,

Questioning all the why’s, why I was so cold, why I couldn’t rest…

I admire the habits of those more cosmetic than I,

if only for the social implications.

But when the wolf smiles, I cannot help to think:

'When does he find the time to brush his teeth?'

Now, do not worry dear reader, for I brush my teeth too.

I just can't help but marvel at the pearliness of those… well, pearls.

To brush one's teeth you require something to do the brushing, yes?

(what does he use?)

And further, something to use whilst brushing?

(he doesn't carry toothpaste)

How lucky I am to have this wonderful opportunity to inspect this fine specimen's teeth.

(oh look, he's already opening wide, smiling)

Solemn breaths expired as trumpets - tantrumed - blew,

the hollow empire unfurled its plump coils.

do no trust the crickets - HEAR THAT?!

Quarter given by their quarterly quartet, is null,

not that, the empire won't spoil,

it's just that the apples, after their daily executions,

grow weary of not seeing a doctor.

What if the paper read you too?

You're inspired - by cue - to dismiss her,

liberties...

She tells you to be diverse - damn liberals!

They could use som'a'them conservatives.

Hark!! Next will be the barrages of birds among ye kites.

Why so sharply doth you prod good sir?

For I am not an apple...

Your. Sensors. Detect. My. Heart. Rate. Stable.

Only for those moments I was...

Able.

Oh, hello doctor, I had the oddest dream.