That's Charlier Parker To You
I'll take all this—and I do, I push
the button and I remember—I'll hold all this,
what I was thinking. A yellow light
flashes on/off; on/off; on/
off. I'll defend all this, I'll define the quotidian:
moving forward/a similar fantasy/flip
this dark/this easy/this flip, slip
away. Find this left: a sliver
in the finger, a sensation of dropping
in the palms. This is not paralysis.
This is empty and I could get used
to almost anything. So I'll take nothing, I'll have to let the rest
escape. But all that's visible
is opening/closing, moisture or the absence thereof, which causes us to believe
in color. A textureless smear on the window, I'll take
all that too. Nothing of consequence.
I'll refine the quotidian: He has to live somewhere
because he is a corporeal being. But I can tell
that's not what they were meaning.
That's not what they were meaning at all.
