maybe keep the original safe, but come out and show me this

Papers, walk into a bar, or are there special places after a while, we meet clean spaces, white, or pastels, or soft, wood, quiet, respectful what kind of gallery or meeting place is it for these papers, us, at home, we sit, meditate, serious meditation, hours each day, we have tortured ourselves to endure, facing ourselves, facing the inside, not flinch, sometimes it is pleasurable, after you develop a bit, /but we draw we use our hands nothing is precise, like with a dollar bill, we draw sloppy, are sick of it all, precise lies in talking in existing or are we that bad “show yourself” “people at home” “meditating” “your worth” “the worth of a human being” come and see me, people tired of it all, need human companionship, but not in the old ways, “the revealed you gallery” “who are we?” franchises set up? do we go? are they loose, not sticking to format, do they pay a royalty, to work this “system” is it a system? Sit and talk, have papers, push them across the table

Be shy

/what is this I look at the paper above, a copy but I like to hold the paper in my hand, look at colours dash of colour intense spots lines take in, whole thing, want to read closely “Sun easing in, son of sun, glass jar, wax in it, some burnt out low down gone low some good-smelling candle no not cheap it was a beeswax smell good small room interrogation mind” / I get that, scratchy, spelling mistakes, obliterated, hard to say/ the person that made this sitting across from me, I keep going/ lower down it says “Like legs of I walked somewhere, I wrote the things I could not say, not in a million years, yes” / so I read this, I realize I can’t ask this person about any of this at all, whether I just met them now, or whether I know them well, or think I do, it is unavailable.  This is true.  What they write.  Made look right, for hidden inside.  I can’t breach this with them.

Ever.

I look up.

Determined to be in this scared place with them.

“I know you can’t say any of this.”

“I know too,” she says.

I feel faint, we look at each other, I feel like I’m going to faint right there.

Humans do just not say any of this ever to each other.

-

I feel excited out of control, going to die, got to say it.  “This goes into the book?”  “yes, Eric Sewrey’s book”  “I don’t know it well”  / she looks at me “no one does, it’s a million pages a million thoughts scratchy drawings some lost some yet to be shared it is all of us back in there a bit.”  She popped that out.  She can say no more.  She popped that out.

We don’t know where to go from here.  We both swallow hard.

I have been through war, saying what I have, even sitting here with her.

“I can’t do any more” I say to her “I’ve got to run out of here now.”

“wait” she says, forcing herself “to do more in the situation” “one more thing, push for it” she grabs my arm, slips a card into my hand “look at me, look at me I can’t show” and we both go running away from each other, tearing as fast as we can.

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