19th
a perception battered —
he taps the glass
of his booth’s jukebox
hard
so they look
& admire his selection
he makes marks in things
to leave a sign of himself
in something that lasts longer
than its memory or body;
in something’s body
that is also its memory
he’s yet to find ‘Home’ in diner menus
-the waitress is honest
says the coffee tastes like sand-
he imagines she memorizes his order
as she repeatedly writes ‘Help’
on her pad
her body looks like it chants
aboriginal songlines when run
under a record needle
teardrops of Altjira in her step
when she hands his drink to him
their fingers brush
they think nothing of the touch
if not a fleeting lust
because the transient
is more valuable
than the permanent
emotions do not stretch
an immortal distance
without persistent witness
& vivid mental visits
so he & the waitress
let it in
the breakdowns, break-ups,
& heartbreaks that led to this
the medieval measurement
of a moment
is a minute & thirty seconds
but that’s why
those times are gone
things matter
we feel more
he’s developed a patience
that’s almost like a prayer
that his food will never see
his side of the flapping doors
that every waitress will have used
tip-change to get on a bus
to anywhere
where they will find
men with laughter
they can unlace faith from
men with whom they’ll stitch skin
women empty their veins & visas for
you have options:
you can limit yourself to options
or think for yourself
this man has never felt so full
& so guilty for it
because the best things happen to him
when he doesn’t try
because he makes marks in things
& keeps his claws out of people
but neither last
so neither will his memory
making his memory
worth more
than forever
