condos are stacked like coffins on the cornea
of the city. we cannot see for the smoke of the industry of death. we see in cracks
and construction promoted clouds. i die my hair curcumin and walk like a
demented carrot qtip looking for ears. clouds will soon have pricetags, puffy
in shopwindows, owned by stars
excuse me i say have you seen any ears?
they rush by like olives in a hurricane to
their communication. i look for the ears of frogs, of hydrants, transit ads, of
shopping bags, the ears of bicycles. everything has ears
coffins are for sale and the living live in
them like things. i’ve tried to count them. one two seven 23 921 thousands
more. like termite colonies but no wood to eat. the wood’s in monitors,
exchanges
excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the ear store from here?
they rush by like horny dragonflies but not
alighting on my lingam. any ears will do
i say. i don’t wish to make a necklace of
them like those savages in blood
meridian. i don’t wish to enter them and squish around and pull some
fascinating wax out. i wish maybe to conduct a census of ears – not those
demographic attributes like age, ethnicity, language, income, social currency,
drug use, failure – but the sensitivity of cilia, fluidities and cavities, data
buried in bones
excuse me, do you have a moment to answer some questions about
your ears?
they rush by, the humans, to the steppes of
progress, their mouths like costco parking lots, their eyes like ergospheres. i
do not romanticize cats, their twitchy ears i want to eat as twitchy cereal
with absinthe. they rush by, and i do not find myself in elevators to the
skies. i do not find myself. i walk around, asking coffins coffin questions. i
like the dark. i cannot count it, it is one and nothing and all the things i cannot
count. they are rushing. i have written a history of ears. excuse me
