Tuesday August 1, 2006 1:06am

Look: there's nothing to see.
An empty palm, symbol of my disinclination.
A sleep that sits in the chords of my stomach. Sleep, can't sleep. Dreams curling up around my circumference, want to wrap into.
Where when. A walk, a foreign place, a lightning rod, a danger.
Don't know what this means and it doesn't matter. A performance, what it means to be human.
Follow my steps, you can hear them if you listen. Join me, find me in the sound. Nowhere else.
What is a room, an apartment? What is a street or a city that wraps its legs around it? A blanket a bed, a rest. A walk down the street. not too far, just little enough to feel going nowhere. The latch falls open, an opportunity.
In the sun, hot, dripping, everything dripping apart, loose, faltering, disintegrating. Sun, penetrating into myself, an alliance, a fraternity. The sun sneaks into these words, doing its work, breaking, a hammer on rocks. Can't recover, can't rebuild. Not tonight.
Across the train tracks, across the lake, down to the neighbour's house, on the roof, elsewhere, upper or lower. Elsewhere.

--"Where are you calling from?"
--"Just wanted to see how far i could get. I'm lost now. Nowhere to be found. You're actually not speaking with me, just a recording I made a few weeks ago. Even my voice has become disembodied. I don't know who's playing this recording, I left it on the side of the highway. I'm not on the other line, it's just a stranger who is sending you this out of some unknown motivation, either malicious or benign."
The recording suddenly stops. Some fumbling is heard, then all sound dies with the dial tone.
The phone rings again. The same recording is replayed. This continues all night. I don't sleep. The next night, there's a knock on the door, and I find a cassette on my porch.
I play it: "Just wanted to see how far i could get..."
****