9.00

The waiting is over and whatever waiting comes is fear abiding. And abiding is nowhere (Rilke says). ++ The notes, the comments, the diluted invitations annoy like circulated air. You'll find no outlet here: You mumble when you talk; you are incapable of articulating the shadows of this body. ++ (Beware the single male homeowner who invites you, woman, for coffee and dinner: He's shopping for furniture. He's talking about his family. Over his shoulder to the right a scene is playing behind plate glass and parted curtains. The sparkling rear bumper of a new Buick sedan inches into view from the left, backs closely to the front end of a car of the same make and model, only different color. Closer... Closer... Closer - no room for a breath between them but they do not touch.Then it pulls slowly forward until gone from view. He didn't notice. He says he's got a brother he doesn't speak to and a fucked up sister. Behind him, the Buick's back. A little straighter than last time. Inching closer... closer... until a single black crack - Ah! But no shudder of contact. ++ Found among the sleeves in a closet of voices he stands poised from release. He's here to interpret histories kept in unhuman languages. And he does, by tongue and by tender needle in an undulating groove.

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