Author: [[Abe Brownell|Abe]] --- # Performance Notes *Get lost and found* # Poem Here I am within myself and Hearing words roll out the other side "This is a holy presence unless it's..." Wrong to use two hands with it to Still never make it out dead We are so cooked So here you *have it:* the infinite font of thoughts in case you didn't have enough If I could write with both hands in my waking life as well and still I continue forever as I have always done Living as a terror in my own throat No amount of water will quench it Screaming will never get it dry Quiet procession behind my words Slow march of desire over the course of speech Asking if we collectively collapsed or if answering for things is still in fashion This, the reason I shiver and spit like that So thoroughly in my way I could make a mountain of it Without giving a dime to the truth Squealing down the rails of life All you need is more days off the barrel bottom Coming at you from one side of your head Leaving out the other All built into the apparatus of my four dimensional diving dress Ask again about that holy presence Look in the mirror and say living or dead Use it to check on the status of your cooking As it runneth over with words A quiet procession in this midnight kitchen Where something goes to sleep thirsty yet needs to scream They all slow march into the house and fall asleep Desire falling into a mountain of sleep Only now is to exit To shiver, spit, and march around Asking again about some holy presence Living or dead yet overflowing with words Powerwashing the bottom of the barrel and drinking the dregs Tumbling out into more "No" for now Finding it all at the end of the day and forgetting your dreams