11.09.2021

the sound of not saying goodbye turned all the way up loud

My friend asks if I ask questions to stay in control, but I'm just not into the cross-
word puzzle or the Yankees or slow cooking or pornography. I don't know how 
to participate in the usual exchanges, so what is a loud noise you secretly like the 
sound of? I ask as we walk down the avenue and there I am controlling things
again like I'm some kind of walking thermostat, or an intercom, yes, press mute
and let me not hear doors slamming, not saying goodbye.

I love that sound especially, the sound of not saying goodbye turned all the way
up loud, louder even than the trucks that shouted their way past us, louder than
my friend who when it's time to go answers in his polite English murmur that
he'd rather continue this discussion more discreetly, upstairs, between the sheets.
---
I can't tell a joke but surely one of the best setups is how you men are always 
ready. What an appetite!

I rarely ask if you love me back or if you're there when the priest, the rabbi, and 
a juggler walk into the Vatican bar.

Will I ever admit my indiscretions?

Look for me in the heavenly bodies.

Or way up here on West 98th, stoned on negative capability, eating honeydew,
taking these scholarly notes.
---
For example, the brain uses ten times more energy than any other body part.

Would we were octopuses, with brain cells in our arms!

In the most difficult logic problem on record, there are three gods, called True.
False, and Random.

True always speaks truthfully, False always speaks falsely. But whether Random
speaks truthfully or falsely is a completely random matter. The task is to deter-
mine their identities by asking three yes-no questions.

The gods understand English but answer in their own language.
---
Doctors agree I need to get laser holes made in my eyes. Laser pulses they call
them. The pain will not be too great, they promise, though after it's over there's
a chance I'll see more ghost images, nighttime halos around lights.
---
Go Back: You Are Going the Wrong Way say the highway signs in white lettering
against a bright red background.

I always wonder how they know which way we're headed.
---
The real question is not when but who, who will be there when you die?

Instead I might ask where you got your hat? I'd like to wear your hat—

And if it gets late again tonight, I might ask you the time, I might ask you a riddle
or straighten my dress, I might commit a little crime or tell you the name of my
press, My Body Up Against Yours, yes. My Body Up Against Yours Press.

To an event called "Poetry and the Creative Mind" I wore faux Spanx for the 
first time, discount Walgreens size L Spanx look-alike that kept me a little bit
warm on a late April night. I was lonely when I took it off at home. I wonder
if other women take theirs off in the bathroom before checking their faces and
returning to the book, the bed, the optimistic erection.
---
Who put this old copy of Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious beneath my 
Thesaurus? Both titles obscured by dust.

Us, us—

the books so artlessly repercuss.
---
Tellisa wanted to know how to stop yelling. Ashley wanted to know what to
do about her son's tantrums. Christina went awol. Barb got pregnant again and
left with her son.

The mothers are young and on their own, disappointed or abused or simply left
by their babyfathers. Can you skip me? one asks. We are making an inventory
of apologies and questions:

Sorry, right?

It was two days after Valentine's Day.

Love is like the universe, could it be the tenth planet?

I'm sorry I missed it, what happened?

[Catherine Barnett {1960- } 'Accursed Questions, iii', from Human Hours: Poems]

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