Monday, July 26, 2010

an excerpt of "Grandfather Clock" (the history of bells) by Brad Hamers

every five minutes he
needs to be reminded that she didn't leave him
the gun is so well hidden someone hopes it goes off
pills are like doors only someone else has the master key to
she can't tell him it's not a prison
they haven't spoken since she bent over to pick something up
it's been physical therapy (since)
every audience member with a wad full of silly putty
every piece of newsprint faded from the photocopier's light
each day the sun became closer to being a Canon
the moments became more like counterfeit currency
every five minutes he needs to be reminded she's in the hospital
the nurse-bell is so well hidden no one knows it's a special event (or commemoration)
he doesn't know the person in gloves administering his medication
she can't tell him (we) hope he dies soon
they haven't spoken in over fiftyfour meals
some bells were invented for war and just burning things down
each day was another layer of sun
one more copy of the copy
no one can tell him what had happened 2 weeks ago
some bells lasted two&ahalf centuries (the audience clapping out into infinity)
we were tourists in a museum
tongues like bells behind glass
ziggurats to-be bell-towers counting the rings in our ears
the clock can be heard over long distances
the origin was a tree we carried from house to house
the roadrunner-clock left in his condo was a 78rpm record
every time it hit twelve
something no one could carry for too long on their mind
every five steps produces five more to climb
some bells
were too large
were (built) clamped mouth down (stuck inside a fire alarm)
the gun might as well not even exist
pills were seven more pieces of mail to open
each day he seems to lose himself a little more
(she can't tell him who he was)
a photocopier becoming obsolete
(less need for actual pieces of paper)
they haven't spoken in over fourteen signatures on prescription notes
she couldn't write out a schedule for his pills anymore
the audience keeps showing the stamp on their hand
everyone showed up because no one could bare to watch what they would become
the cannon he was shot out of was lit
(with a flame that was struck) possibly decades ago
and the cloud of smoke it produced lasted many days
many of us forgot how to count the years
he was another man when it came to dying
midnight on a compact-disc going off in a bell tower in the center of our now
how many pills does it take to hit 90(something)
they haven't spoken since sometime in the early thousands like they had in the 50's
and may not speak
he needs to be reminded how much he loves us
the war is so well hidden it doesn't even have death
or anywhere to hide itself
we sat upright (or slouched) in a mass grave
washing stones (like blabber)
to build another rock wall
another discovered emotion that knows its own borders
one day we will walk over it all
far from now
in arms and walkers
i die every time before i walk into a room
(every dream out on display behind museum glass (like the next round of pills)
it was like one could actually prepare for being woken up
the rooster was a recording of a bell going off in
bumblefuck idon'tknow at hell in the morning
maybe pergatory is alzheimer's
incurable life
"a process of purification or temporary punishment"

the house had too many stories
the sun could never speak over it
the moon jumped to get out of the way of us
his body wanted to last longer than his mind
it was a race
of pills
down his hoarse(dirt-road)throat
to which could hit the bottom (the last house) first
her mind was well equipped to outlast her body
it was a matter of utilitarian choice
"no instinct goes extinct without willing itself too" (somewhere in its cells)(somewhere in its cages)
the row of knees and o(a)rs says from a water cooler on the sideline
the only cheerleaders were angels
(and everyone knew they weren't real)
it was always easier to complain
faking dancing was much harder than actually doing it
do we wish he would have remembered where the gun was (when it was possible) (and mattered)
does years off your life take years to live out (years of living it out)
where does the cuckoo(roadrunner)clock run out
of road
and highway


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