I am wearing a masculine shirt with socks and sandles and I am not giving a flying fish cake no matter how stupid that sounds.
I am thinking about you in a Canada Goose jacket and nothing else.
Where is my ability to think straight when your body is near mine and we are reaching for the kettle?
Is it possible for two people to make a cup of coffee together in exactly equal measure?
I am looking out the window at the rain and thinking about your wet-look hair.
I wish the last time we fucked we weren’t listening to Placebo. I wanted you to think about your hands around my throat instead of your seventeen year old daughter. That’s how hard becomes soft.
I am the wet flannel that slipped off your towel rack.
We stood up and measured ourselves against everything we could find. We measured the tips of our fingers to the points of our elbows and compared them to the panels in the wooden doors, lining them up precisely; edging palms up, straightening each ulna. We took the edges of each eye and we spun and spun until we knew exactly how many Mississippi’s it took eye to eye around the backs of our living minds. How tall are you compared to this fern? Here, let me place your finger in the crack of the wooden floorboard. It’s but a fingernail wide; the baby, that is. Where is your nose in relation to this light switch? We compared ourselves to the world and this we did every Sunday; Our only way to distinguish between life and death.
The mighty catfish sunk to the floor
It sunk so far it could go no more
And then one day it saw the light
Saw the light and decided to fight.
It raised one whisker up from the sea bed
Raised it way, way above it’s head.
It said, “Hey World, I think it’s time
To stand up and to take what’s mine!”
And sooner or later it was flying high
Flying high in the media industry up in the sky.