Trisha Brown

existence in reality we invent to reach surreal pelvis human pelvis jolted to one side shadows going no where pelvis jolted to one side shadows going no where pelvis jolted to one side the human walk is an art giggling and collapsing onto the wall center of gravity stretched to the far corner people walking on walls, need stretches past gravity a violent push away from one thing I stretch to lay staring at the ceiling

and a different purpose hair flung hanging to one side their shadows grey and greyer and greyer and greyer the frenzy is outside and there is no window in this building of slowly crawling with new meaning and the shadows only reflect back to ourselves off the floor that is already grey but we built contraptions to reach the white and stay there as if it were natural with our pelvis pulling and our hair flung

the lines racing up and down they smell like a cigarette and they’re so close to me and it smells so strong and collapsing onto the wall giggling it’s heart-breaking not to be comprehended

we cannot climb we can squeak we can scatter our feet leaving no prints our pants falling to one side and people huddled below in our daring escape to the side our frenzy new territory that belongs brightness brightness on the outside we stare upwards and realize they can only climb as high as they have built the buildings and that there is not much left in the world, they ever calm the fuck down get more fucking bored and thank you and thank you thank you maybe with short hair cuts and button-ups staring upwards and

he shouldn’t be talking so your mind wanders off on its own when its empowered the low-drizzling of her talking and lighter exhales of them not wanting to listen and they think they’re talking and comprehending and light high pitched exhales of her not wanting to listen

there is no color only falling and distorted destroying bodies and with this new frontier I and we are still bored and twisting and watching the opposite wall with envy twisting a line between me and the far corner

my tongue and the roof of my mouth is tight dry my throat is dry tight arms outstretched towards the floor I ache I ache and it’s breaking to not be comprehended and beauty comprehending this is meaningless and the grey luster of khaki this is meaningless they think this can muster greater meaning but it is the same and it doesn’t belong to the person who recorded it and it wasn’t made by the person who recorded it and my fingernails are too long and

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there shouldn’t be one thing supporting a writing and when I get back home they will be there without her and they’ll want my attention because she isn’t there but if he’s there they won’t need my attention because he is there and I’ll watch them do that to me and they won’t see a thing My mind hurts it relaxes and flexes the flesh reaching and tightening I need to clip my fingernails

white against white against white white man against white against white man against white against white against white It’s not dangerous it’s controlled it’s a substance it’s explored We’ve built it, we’ve built it to exist

I don’t care all of their pelvises off to one side and I can feel my heart being destroyed it’s not narrative or explosive or mysterious it just is and I want to be that boy who died and they were so in love they couldn’t exist together but no such love exists in us or me it can’t because I’m on the floor and they are not beside me we look towards the ceiling and think we see things but they’re reflected from the opposite wall and the only way is to get us closer to the ground but we’ll get grey and black with shadows and if I die perhaps we’ll fall and I’d prefer that to anything else but that’s not true it is a study of the big toe I would rather climb lower and lower I believe I will die in a car crash or something stupid and I would want nothing it would be far more pleasant the white cords reaching up towards the corner dangling free and natural and beautiful as if there was a wind this is just the study of a big toe