The Window Man

There was a man cleaning the windows outside at work today.
I could see him from my desk. I spent a minute disregarding
his presence until I could no longer take it. I put my shoes
on and walked over to the window, where from my side I stood
and sternly stared at him. I watched his focus, splashing
cleaner on the window and then meticulously running the
rubber blade of his squeegee down the glass. It felt like
math. His eyes following his actions, until he caught site of
me. He stared back at me. We couldn’t speak to each other if
we tried, not with words. But I stared out at him, behind him
some comforting green screen of blue sky. It was a cookie
cutter blue sky. The kind of sky that almost feels beautiful
because it’s existed in every movie ever. The kind of sky that
almost feels beautiful because you drew it in crayon so many
times as a child. He remained staring before this manufactured
sky, chewing his chewing gum, and I stared back. I watched the
window man as he blew his chewing gum into a big giant pink
bubble and filled it with war stories. He filled it with big,
big fish and the story about the one that got away. He filled
it with the song that played the day he met the love of his
life and the clouds that rolled over the day she passed away.
I had nothing to say back to him except to raise my right
hand, as if I had been exalted by his honesty, as if to say
to him, “Is this not love? The way that we understand that
we are not the same, and that truly we just may never actually
hear each other, but still to say I hear you?” I raised my
hand to say I hear you and he raised his hand to say the same
to me, and pulling the pink bubble from the tip of his lips
he pinched it and floated off into the crayon sky and I
went to gather my things and leave work early because I knew
for sure that this day had nothing else for me.


it was crazy, really
the way that we sat talking stoned in your basement
the way that these words that we thought tasted like sweet ginger kombucha
poured out of our mouths like turpentine
muddying our naked bodies frictioning like flint

it was crazy the way we burned down
and the whole time we burned down
we yelled and whispered “i love you, i love you”
again and again until our bodies gave out

the whole time we burned down
the carcasses of deer dissimulating into the dirt
a fast motion video of ten thousand worker ants
hounding the occasion to taste the sweet remnants of the moment
but us born again small in their bellies
but ten thousand times over
but love

but there’s so much stubbornness in early May to be had
spring is a pushy little bitch

and then we were disappeared
too everywhere to feel anything other than everything
and in the everything was a call to arms to push through your madness
to push through my own madness
to find out what lies on the other side of all this madness
even knowing the answer is more madness

and every ounce of moon rock that we pulled from each other’s skin
by the force of our own separate gravities
every ounce of ocean that we precipitated into little cartoon clouds above our heads
every ounce of green honesty flourishing like feathers in your eyes
told me what i already knew because you’d told me so many times

what you’d told me so many times
as i maybe foolishly argue that love and freedom are the same thing

what you’d told me so many times
that i’m so busy thinking about the winter in the heart of the spring

The Apple Store

I walked into the apple store and asked the man if I could buy an apple.

He told me no.

I said that isn’t fair.

I want to buy an apple.

He said to me “well, I don’t want to sell you an apple.”

At this point, another someone walked by and the man gave them an apple.

“Well, just give me the apple,” I said to the man.

“No,” he said again.

“Why?” I said.

“Why not?” he said.

“I’m hungry,” I said to him.

“You should work on not being hungry,” he said to me.

“That’s precisely what I’m trying to do,” I said to him.

“No,” he said, “you’re trying to be full.”

“Same thing,” I said.

“Not at all,” he said.

“I want to speak to the manager,” I said to the man.

“I am the manager,” the man said.

“Well then, I want to speak to your boss,” I said.

“I am my own boss,” he said.

“You can’t be your own boss,” I said.

“Yes you can,” he said, “you would understand that if you weren’t so hungry.”

“Well, I’m going to be hungry until you give me that apple,” I said.

“I guess you’ll always be hungry,” he said, biting into the apple.

I left the Apple Store and sat on a bench outside beneath the sun, which just laughed at me as I cried. Then I laughed and the sun cried, and then after quite some time and a decent spell of boredom, I decided not to be hungry anymore and I wasn’t.