This evening, we were lonely. So, we congregated.
We wound ourselves up.
We drew our numbers around the television for a sexless circle jerk.
Someone told me to be the bulls eye. “Think red-hooded and doe-eyed. Maybe even shake a little”, he instructed
Case study of aggressive males with hockey sticks on the television:
A players human cheek smashed at HOW-MANY miles per hour against the Plexi glass means
The men who observe are closing in on cumming.
If two players are digging their skates in ice, clinging to each others faces for balance, while beating the other in two,
it is my duty to deliver a new set of pants to the gentlemen in the room.
They smile all the while. Happy in their humanity.
They speak in codes. So, I myself do not speak but listen to even the smallest silence.
One speaks in well-articulated full sentences, but down at the floor. How long has he been unhappy for?
Another erupts each minute in profane, liberated yells about this and that.
He smiles all of the time and fills the silence.
The youngest only open their mouths to comment on sex, money, or marijuana.
But they look you in the eye.
The one in his room sniffs cocaine.
He is preparing for school tomorrow.
Which of these is the breadwinner?
Who to pick on our mass broadcasted dating show?
Is there a best Joe in a lot of Joes? I finally say aloud,
“You know, I never met a clock that didn’t know how to tell time.
Once, I thought I had found one.
But it snuffed back at me,
I know how to tell time. I’m a clock that’s only
broken!”
Silence. So, I ask, “Anyone have the time?”
And they do not. And they do not understand. Silenced.
A holier moshpit of hockey players piles up. All of the men cheer and giggle,
except for the one alone in his room. But something tells me he doesn't mind.
And we all sleep soundlessly later. Except for the man who sniffed cocaine
He will make beautiful art and be late to class the next day
