total and temerity
looking for ten dollars here somewhere to take a car
down to Pema's. the bus would be a wait in the cold
and with this cold...

it is a total mess here. needing space somewhere for
clothes and some floor for sorting these papers.

backpack empty
spine diminished
the mucous seems to have subsided
I could probably do for a walk,
even in circles here.

the sounds of nose blown downstairs.
this thing is spread and saturated

do you remember the time you could think in verse?
that the spiritual had not yet consumed your thinking
and the seeds of doubt were less firmly planted.

vows and fictions.

This is the house where he will stay until death slips
a hand between the plates of his heart and lets breath
slip out (finally) for good.

Not especially old, he'd been considering finances and turns of events,
the view from the window. Couldn't he simply leave this life and climb
between the bars of the boarded up school across the way? With sleeping
bag and bottle for water, make a homestead in that abandoned place. And
what of calories, hmm? Try as he may, he could not escape the question
of sustainance, the mortal constraints of mammallian life. Oh, a rock
could stay there in that churchyard, year after year. Even a slim-rooted
spring onion might make a place in the crack of split concrete. But this
breathing shitting life would make no amenities. There was yoga, maybe.
The stories of rabbit-pellet wisemen, but here it was the city itself that
insisted against. Why, he wondered, had they not just lived in the free
place. Turned off the lights most days, while the sun came through glass
overhead. Paid the simplest bills to keep the fridge in operation and the
water running hot.

This was the conundrum, of course. When you arrive you are nothing, not
even a nuisance. Swept up in the coat-tails with your single suitcase
and novice's charm. A couch, a bed, a spare key. The mind settles into
the old habits as quickly as allowed.

And so here he was with the next weeks' rent paid up. Could he make these
next days the last and--knowing such--rest as he had not rested since
arriving here? It would do no good to stop calling about small jobs if he
had any intention of seeing the next first of the month. Nor could he
allow for the sublet-ee process to begin, for that would make for all the
hassles and hub-bub that this very day had set his resolve otherwise. All
in. These spirit days.

One trouble with this place was the lack of ailments. What would bring
death here, to this room?
Max Tabackman Fenton was younger then.
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