The Affair of Objects

I

The sudden disbelief of elements, the frog in the fishtank, the pulse of filtering water, a pool of day-old dishes in the sink, the electric drizzle of refrigerator, a tapping of Owen's cracked leather brogue, the disturbing chatter of mice swimming in the floorboards, the winds smothering of the window



II

My body's tumor, tension slackened layers, toes unable to curl, hands' skin salty against the grain of my fingers, hair limp, breasts quiet, stomach gargling, and mostly, the sad slits of eyes anchored to curves of eye sockets, heaviness weighted; off balance. The haunt of light as leaves whisper and the accumulation of dead cells rolled in this dirty, unlaundered sheet and the sky, blackened for miles.



III

The laymanŐs quandary, exquisite record- keeping of ardent affairs, infidelity and abstract love, from the tussle of finger- scented hair, the heavy astronomy of seeing, a line, closest intersection between ache and despondency, a shallow vortex of finite desire, the ephemeral scent pungent in language, and temporary reconciliation from here, where the view is poor and my young muscled courage crippled by the cellulite within the drawn frame, a sensitive PH reading toxic, mercury or another nameless, tasteless linger of verified elements.





IV

the distance between the onion and the chopping board, frayed, lone evenings, running on the hot hiss of cut rings hitting teflon purple and white, a crude stove clock greased and time made plain, a finger cut, seasoned blood, a slew of endless bandages in the waste bin, already insanitized by thumbprints, traces of dirt-filled nails against the abrasive bang of spatulas, a precise shift in temperature.



V

the distance between the body knowing direction, having fallen into ritual and the mind's alarming rate of fallibility. the jagged edge of this memory, a breakfast, a late dinner, hands upon things upon hands against rates of time, of love, of faded laughter, of temporary gesture.