The Voyeur

Leo kept his binoculars in a box under his bed behind another box of old knick-knacks, even though as an object they were innocent. So was Leo, on the outside, so what if he liked to contemplate, while looking off unfocused, the things he would do that might garner judgments, things alternating between heroic and criminal. In the end, thought Leo, those things were the same; the only difference was the outcome, whether anyone was saved or only lost.

Yes, he convinced himself of this while he stood at his window on the 18th floor with his binoculars aimed down at the room across the block, 15th floor, beneath the porch with the flower boxes and next to the whitish stain on the bricks. The room that did not have shades.

Something nothing

Something hits the back of Joe's neck, both sharp and stinging, like a barb. He is reaching to slap it when it tugs--something like a string is attached, pulling him backwards. As he realizes this, adrenaline pumps and he changes the course of his hand, reaches back and cartwheels, just grazing the face of the holder of the string, which is more like a taut, thin metal twine. She is a chiseled old woman with wild gray hair. Nothing above her mouth has ever smiled.

Nothing above her mouth has ever smiled, but of the panoply of possible expressions she has passed through quite a few. There was the time she walked into the kitchen and the back door was wide open, the curtain trailing in a body-blindfold on the dog running through the yard, heading for the fence dead-on, and she couldn't see where the rod had fallen and rolled under the table or stop the leaves that were blowing in fast. And there was the time the bank came for the house and she took the dog back to the pound. She hasn't ever, with her eyes, been able to do more than reflect the world back out. But now, this starry night, this gently vibrating field of fireflies, hanging onto nothing.

Hanging onto nothing could be a way to fall, stand still, present arms for holding something, a way to describe non-stuff, empty space and the absence of math--no numbers, no relations. No matter at all.

Resolution

The urge to reform,

                forget the date,

of course the most smartest thing to say

is just be.

I am, we are all beautiful people. (except those ones)

But really, why not,

                we’re reminded once a year as it is,

think about the things to resolve to do and be make

goals and lists

and change your life for some reason.

Cut back work out

Stop being a dick.

Stop agonizing about the goals and lists

And listen to your own breath and

Thank existence

For the beautiful person breathing next to you

And all the collective inhales exhales

Pulling us through to the next set of goals and lists

Satisfaction in

The perpetuity of motion