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Let us name the staples:
living rooms are for living,
and waiting, and wasting
and uncomfortable silences
before our place with each other
is properly settled.
They are made when posters of swastikas and Hitler youth on parade, on the door, when you walk out, walk in, you gotta say it, whatever it is.
front doors are for knocking, and mezuzzahs and the flag of Zion
windows are for watching, farmer's market pretentions and four dollar water
are for balconies cutting your hair and letting it, letting it go
"Well, then, make it new, make it last," what next?
cupboards, kettles, chai, cardamom, bitter coffee, always
waiting for you in the morning.
sentences trail and the endings just land on your plate
my subscriptions, telephones, paintings and mannequins and dresses on racks that roll into rooms for show.
Dishes: plate, gold plate, blue plate, red plate, dessert
dish, shot glasses (6), paintbrushes, makeup brushes,
toothbrushes, bowls, bowls, bowls, wine bottle: dishes.
Stalinesque Hitleresque statuesque, how much more brutal can we afford to be?
Doves cackle in the kitchen and we paint names together, "Jehu," I paint "Battle," to each their color, to each their father, to each their mother, late into the evening, with candles, candles, footlights, and four dollar wine, four dollar wine and it spills and blends our children's names together, creeping its way across the canvas like a cancer - slow, certain.
Balconies are for, what do we even use them for? are for cutting your hair when you are turning older, again, when you are still an artist, again, when you are still lonely at best, when it is still 'the way it is.'
I exist to be cutting your hair and throwing it off the balcony, letting it go, I exist for you to be whispering "letting it go, letting it go."