Imagine I’m Filling a Vat

September 6, 2006

A few weeks ago there was a big rock show at my house. For about the millionth time in my life I noticed a handsome boy in the crowd. I quickly realized that my attention had unconciously shifted from the band to hopes of orchestrating some kind of meaningful eye-contact with the boy. These looks never amount to anything.

Imagine I’m filling a vat
with a myriad glances unrealized.
Hollowing the tubes that
tunnel between points,
performing the curattage of an invisible conduit
I scrape out particles
like swabbing soft tissue for tests-
they collect in a container so vast
it rivals not just the Superbowl but
Sunday
Not the pages of books
but the Whole Sensation of History.
In it swim so many fish
the zeros break from commas
into their own teeming darting schools.
When braided, the kelp
that moves like drugged hula girls
could encircle the earth
many times over twining it into
a naked softball in space.
That’s how many times my eyes have
met eyes and imagined truly the
infinity inside a line.

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