phone never makes a sound not even a buzz

doesn’t seem like something
you’d want to do, yet, watch
it being done; paint
the grout white (mistake;
too white). build
the ladder to get from
floor to bed shelved up above
cab of truck (foot tread too
narrow on steps). throw
ball for dog while in the midst
of sanding and painting outside on a public
picnic table (dog chases
ball retrieves ball returns ball
chews ball stares fixedly at
ball. waiting).

for you it isn’t something
that feels real so when you leave
you forget that it exists.
when you are cornered to
return, cannot believe
it, once again does
not seem real. they say
something to you (it seems
that to them it is yes very
real so you too seem to them perhaps
also real), you say something
in return you fix your face
into a face you waggle or nod or
shake your head. how
do they know who you are?
they in this very not at real
place. doesn’t it too disappear when
you do? and while there, aren’t you,
too, still quite disappeared?

the wind bothers the blinds and
the blinds bother you. you
yank them to fold into themselves so
they hang just out of wind’s (bothering)
reach. the windows are open
and the wind is inside/outside
wind-ing. the requisite small
engines provoked by weather shudder
and whine on display in front
yards and hidden in back yards up and
down the small street. your eyes
made of jelly shudder and thrum inside
of sockets. your are voiding
yourself of substances the absence
of which makes your body foreign
to your mind. visitors
to the small town throb
like lust on every walkable
surface. locals to the small town
slouch inside old wooden trucks with
amplified bass so lurid it threatens
the ground. doesn’t seem like
something you’d want to
do, yet, watch it being
done.