robbery
              shattered shell
you
              of darkness
are
              hollow heart
bled
              stain not
dry
              but still
must
              wait for
you
              dawn and
save
              when through
me
              life lived
now
              you remain
still
              not mine
we
              embrace and
wait
              in silence
for
              tonight we die

dead——to me: all ye sleepless (k)nights
                    you: lead the charge but not calvary
                           : victory promised, _____ in sight
     < you must believe
     > that promise? wasn’t me
     < don’t **** the messenger
     > bring your (own) gear


{ what a wonderful——~w~o~r~l~d~ }


labyrinthian——Theseus (are you, lost?): how goes your hunt?
                                   Asterion (are you…): waiting, eager for your (k)night execution
                                                       ­                : dream for _____
     < your prize is [redacted]
     > glory, your reward
     < we will remember
     > repeatability is (profit) key


… are you talking to me?
            Asterion < are you > Theseus


     1. True or false? Circle your answer. (10 pts)
     2. Discuss. (Optional) you will not be graded
     3. On merit. Fill in the blanks ( _____ )


Now tell _____ , do you like it here?

It's falling, it's falling!

I scramble as it hits the ground——
oh what a crash!——loud is the sound
of losing a bed
     the place for my head
           all simply because
               I'd clumsily lost
                    some screws
and now I'm distraught
as I sit and watch, and thought:
a few screws loose——

                          Where could they be?

                                                           ——I did not see
                                              them under the chair
                                               or under the table
                                             among the tools
                                      or with the cables
Maybe I've swept them?
                                 ——they're not in the trash!
Did I throw it out?
                       ——but I wasn't that rash!

                        Or was I?          (I pause.)

——I pick up a phone
I dial a number
——his smartphone rings
I disrupt his slumber
he grunts as I blubber
——have you seen my screws?
This is no ruse, I find myself now——
                            a few screws loose!

I silently wait till he
                                    sighs
                                              and says:

Have you checked the trashcan——
                                               ——It's not there, I saw
Or under the table——
                        ——have you checked the floor?

It's none of those places
——I searched at least twice
Why else would I call you
——at this time of night?
Please do me a favour and see if you find
the few screws I'm missing
                                                    I’ve left them behind.

I'll search tomorrow
——he says with a yawn.
——I hang up in sorrow
I'll call him at dawn.
I'll stay awake
                                                     or go to bed late
                                                     but

                                        wait

   My bed can hold neither my head nor my soul
        because of the holes and lost metal poles
             no more a bed than a pile of wood
                  it cannot be used, while I am
                                                     a
                     f
                        e   w
                                        sc r   e
                                                          w
                                                       s
                                                      

        ­                                                                 ­       loose.

We're moving house— he takes you a-
Part, piece by piece, picking, pulling, long thin
Steel supports from your joints. He holds you together,
          unforgiving tenderness in steel arms as you crumple into a
          pile of wood.

It's done— he waves a *****-
Driver, drilling in reverse, you watch him work
Metal out from your bones, skeleton scattering limbs about the
          floor, which he meticulously collects and arranges, good as
          new, unassembled.

Thanks for the help, you've been——it's alright, see you soon.
Next time, I'll take the bed.

We're moving house— you are driven a-
Round, missing a turn, new place, unfamiliar
Sights you do not see, your eyes on the frame in the back (of
          your mind) as the van stops and your bare bones unload
          onto a trolley.

It's done— you pay a hundred in two fif-
Ties, broken like the bed tugged through the new
Doorway and left in the living room, with the parts laid out
          neatly beside on cold marble, readied for examination and
          elimination, remnants

          of a time past—

When, can you collect your——next week at the earliest,
evening, Wednesday. I'll bring a van.

head in a daze
body in a haze
feeling heavy, limbs sluggish

I wade through (not) a swamp
*** of broth, thick with fat
rich with meat, hint of green
cooked to melting, innards dissolving
into nothingness— and so the ***
thickens.

No thought, no movement, only
a deep laxation, eyelids drooping
down
           down
                      down
                                 down
                                            and I
**** awake, the bus has stopped— not
my stop, and the, dark, beckons to me
                                                          again

If you expect lace to be a
                    delicate mess you
           would not see what you’d
  expect as it could have been a web
             of threads woven by hand or a
                    thousand machine heads or a
           criss-crossing line along and across the
                                                 spine of a foot or the
                                       wings of a fly from a fictional
                                                       ­       book or the flick of
                                                      a wrist turning your drink
                                                           ­    into a risk you gladly
                                                          ­                      sip and fall
                                           into a dream filled with dance
                                                          a­nd lights and a
                               chance at a fanciful flight
                      but
                                ­        then comes the night
                                             and you hold your seams
                                                           ­ together even as you
                                       slip it off your shoulders no more
                                              delicacy only rubble and ruin
                                                            ­ remain as it floats
                                                      to the floor and you
                                                        stumb­le and fall
                                                          in­to the cruel
                                               hand of slumber
                           feather softness no more
                            than a web of threads  
                    and linen criss-crossing
                         over your spine and
                                     you dream
                                       of flying

Children  encased  in  steel  structures,  while  their  parents ­ stand,

Holding  metal  square  leashes, screens  glaring  white  while they

Idle,  shadows  of  their  faces  concealed  by  light,  while ­ teachers

Around  human  squares  circle.  A  student  watches  woody  tr­ees,

Roots  unseen,   branches  neatly  trimmed  like hedges,   no  leaves  

On  the  ground  below, but  shadows  cast  by  sunlit  branche­s. He

Sympathises  with  his  like,  both  in  a school and unseenly rooted,

Confined  to  a  square.  The  overflow  is  cut  to  fit, laid  bare, seen

Under  fluorescent   light,   blinding  whiteness  of  his  blank  script

Reflecting  nothing  of  shadows  he  collects  and  cultivates­,   hides,

Overflowing  from  the  broken  branches  that  he  keeps  in his bed.

I remember most vividly
two memories with you.

One when you told me
he would be my father
and I had to call him father.
But it was you, and you
were always right.

One when you saw me
and remembered my name
and I loved you in that moment.
Because you have learnt many names, but you
still remembered mine.

I remember most fuzzily
memories that are mostly hearsay.

You carried me as a baby
You fed me and bathed me and clothed me and you
taught me wisdom in every action
and I
will
never finish
learning it all.

I remembered most vividly,
two memories with you.
But today it is

One more

when I saw you
and remember you loved me in every moment
and even as you will never see me again
and even as I will learn many names

I will remember yours.

the sound of
    scritching and
                 scratching
  creaking and cracking
                          hounds me
                   even if it is merely
                          echoes of thought
                      in the examination hall
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­ fal
                                                             ­       ter

the sound of
  squeaking and
               scratching
  clicking and clacking
                    surrounds me
                   even if it is surely
                     bellows of ambition
                    between the office walls
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­fal
                                                             ­      ter


                                                           ­        as I
                                                               stand
                                                      at the edge
             where the whistling wind beckons
                   me to the chattering city below
                        I promise you that I will not

                                                            ­               fall

Shadows snake across the bed

trailing in the wake of your absence

crinkled and wrinkled the sheets of clay, your face

baked in the sun, nothing is hidden

your cup is dry, your essence drawn out of you

leaving behind brown, and

snakes of shadows.