kris t kahn
i know you are clutching the phone like a barbaric sort of club even though you are long passed out.
(i keep thinking of how i have named you or, at least this evening, how i have viewed you. i wonder if
these perceptions slide off me and invade you, change the neurons slightly so that what i see is
actually what you are, a defiance of your normal self.)
right now i see you as Neolithic, holding the phone like a club, passed out from having scavenged all
day in the forest. with your skill level, with your adroitness, you will surely have returned to the cave
empty-handed. in a parallel but regressive universe, i might take this club and give you a quick swipe
across the skull with it (is this where the recessed skull comes from?) for allowing us to starve yet again.
when evening comes i gather berries or else i write poems, even though the after effects of yesterday's
earthquake have still not completely dissipated. i think of you, then, and name you as such. and the
complicated scene unfolds to include Pangaea at its most vibrant even though i swear i've not had anything
yet to drink.
perhaps all i want is for you to realize the treasure you have in your hand. it is not food. it is not sustenance.
it is the means to such. be it telephone or caveman's club, it is still vital, it is still instrumental in both of our futures.
the broken wires and
the broken vines are
too much to think of tonight.
think instead of the strong forearm. the capable man bringing home the bread or the dead possum. think instead
of the incapable lover caved in stone, starving away, starving away, without even the normal assault of words to
keep the pangs at bay.
i think of the arm
and not the hand which clutches
the telephone as though
it were a culprit.
there is solace in it, a slight movement
of plates, of continents,
and that is all. just like that.
just like a phone conversation or
a reverie or a daydream or a movie
we are over,
despite the stone
answer the other,
wolf for wolf.
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