2 TVs



thank the peaceful

quiet



my girl and dog

rest quietly

upon cushions

in the top rooms



I'm down here

in the white light

of the cellar pit,



carpeted clearing,

cool drywall

abode



down here

one TV

mutely plays



another

chatters loudly

above me



the world's gone to Hell



so any clarity of mind

must be precious

reckoning



here,



the faint marking

of renegade insanity



fuels the souls

of innumerable

invisible

mannequins



invariably sequestered here



8 feet under

the earth

with me



glass beings

plainly bearing

enigmatic stripes

of madness,

forgiveness



hashmarks in blood,

feline declinations,



attendant only

upon my need

to discern



huge saccharine music

suddenly swells

in the stairwell



one more

horrible TV show

playing out



where my sleeping girl rests



pausing,

not typing



I turn emptily

to the mute portal

behind me



TV

can't quite quell

all the substance



down here,

my implacable figures



do not care

2 TVs

thank the peaceful

quiet



girl and dog

resting quietly

upon cushions

in the top rooms



me here

under lights

in the cellar pit



hum of CPU

one TV down here

mutely plays



world's going to Hell

any clarity of mind

must be precious

reckoning



renegade markings

of dust covered insanity

fueling vision



of innumerable

invisible mannequins

sequestered here



8 feet under

the earth

with me



in this carpeted clearing

a drywall abode

cool and dry



as these glass beings

these mannequins



plainly bearing

their enigmatic stripes

of madness, of forgiveness



attendant only

upon my need

to discern



now I hear

orchestral movie music

in the stairwell



another horrible TV show

loudly playing out

where my sleeping girl rests



pausing in typing

I turn emptily

to the mute TV



but there's still

some substance

even horrible TV shows



can't quite quell:

down here,

these implacable figures



do not care

two TVs

(rev. 3)



thank the peaceful

quiet



girl and dog

resting quietly

upon cushions

in the top rooms



me here

under lights

in the cellar pit



hum of CPU

TV mutely plays



the world's going to Hell



any clarity of mind

is precious reckoning



renegade markings

of dust covered insanity

fuel the vision

of innumerable mannequins

invisibly sequestered

8 feet under

the earth

here with me



this carpeted clearing

drywall abode

cool and dry

as these

glass beings



plainly bearing

enigmatic

stripes



attendant only

upon my need

to discern



orchestral movie music

in

the stairwell



a horrible TV show

playing out

where my sleeping girl rests



the dog's not barking now

he's hushed for a while



he wouldn't settle

down tonight

nor do I want to



pausing in typing

I turn emptily

to the mute TV



yet here is some substance

even horrible TV shows

can't quite quell



these mannequins

implacable

do not care

[10/28/2002 9:45:39 PM | Matt Vincent]

time was a thing

(v. 1)



thank the peaceful

quiet



girl and dog

lying quietly upon cushions

in the top rooms



me here

under the lights

in the cellar pit



hum of machine

as the TV mutely plays



the world's gone to hell

any clarity of mind

must be reckoned

a precious commodity



the renegade markings

of dust covered enigmas

fuels the lives



of innumerable mannequins

sequestered here

invisibly



with me

8 feet beneath the earth

in this carpeted clearing,



drywall abode

cool and dry

as some people can be



glass beings

baring their stripes

ever plainly



attendant only

upon my need

to discern



orchestral movie music

floods

the stairwell



some horrible TV show

playing out

where my sleeping girl rests



the dog's not barking now

and perhaps he won't

for a while



headed toward sleep

he wouldn't settle down tonight

nor do I want to



pausing in typing

I turn to the mute TV

where I learn in bold font:



BUSH HITS THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL



horrible TV shows

can't quell

something



though their volume seeps past me



my roomful

of mannequins

doesn't care

time was a thing

(v.2)



thank the peaceful

quiet



girl and dog

lying quietly upon cushions

in the top rooms



me here

under lights

in the cellar pit



hum of CPU

as the TV mutely plays



the world's going to Hell

so any clarity of mind

is precious reckoning



renegade markings

of dust covered insanity

fuels the lives



of innumerable mannequins

invisibly sequestered

here with me



8 feet under

the earth in

this carpeted clearing



drywall abode

cool and dry

as these figurines



glass beings

plainly bearing

their stripes



attendant only

upon my need

to discern



orchestral movie music

floods

the stairwell



a horrible TV show

plays out

where my sleeping girl rests



the dog's not barking now

perhaps he won't

for a while



he wouldn't settle

down tonight

nor do I want to



pausing in typing

I turn to the mute TV

where I learn in bold font:



BUSH HITS THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL



yet here is some substance

even horrible TV shows

can't quite quell



their volume seeps past me



these mannequins

implacable

do not care

dog is my savior



Time

peeling off

into obligations

both honest

and dishonest

both sensible and maddening



My head

like a wound

made

no more or less murky

by the presence of

wanton ambition

disgraced goalsmanship

but that's not a word



I reside tonight among the presence

of substances

up to and including:



her heart, her hair,

the dog's

brown eyes,

television,

cans of beans,

macaroni-and-cheese,

30 cans of beer in my small fridge,

one of the cats inspecting a fragment

of sour cream and onion potato chip

Crossfire on TV bleating

death penalty or no for

murderers Mohammad and Malvo

and my pine tar inner self

down here in this hole

typing 3rd rate lines

onto the Internet

again



the dog stirs upon the floor



I'm a rodeo clown

caught up in a trapeze of

scarcely obtained

momentum



wildly oscillating between

whirling poles of safe harbor,

madness, clarity, disgrace



simultaneously

above and below

any comfortable altitude



flailing



the dog thinks I'm his master

and loves me

and owns more

than he knows

5:07 PM



and ready to roll off

into the late October dusk

unto parking lot and store

unto various lights and double yellow lines



ranging out before the boredom

stiffens into me again

a not unendurable force

causing one to pause, consider



ruminate, reflect



allowances have been made



god damn it, it's only Monday

and there will be very little pleasure

in drinking anything tonight