By Jax NTP
sketches during rush hour on the Chicago Loop
each tomato heart beat, softer
than the sole of ballet slippers
the way we keep track of things
throughout the day as if the act
of measurement made us a promise
to measure something is to change it
each tick of the body, bubbles
in saliva, spasms of streetlights,
the way you use a lint-roller, vertical
rotations, spiderworts and slot-machines,
edible hissing coins, such sour aftertaste
to refill the vacuum is to excavate the voidto refill the vacuum is to excavate the void
each chord of cheap tequila, jaunts
the momentary nature of nearness
the way i think about counting distracts me
from counting how many times i’ve washed my clavicles,
now i must reapply soap, rewash, recount
to do nothing is an actionto do nothing is an actionto do nothing is an action
