Silence... Testo

Testo Silence...

The silence between radiators and constellations takes place some three-odd dreams before a vacation.

Meeting gears clumsily detaching a man's hand in the dust crunching machine of an aspirin factory shift.
Adding their glued open eyes to the good Reverend Pitman's hard to find bird head collection.

Then, the dream trails off into long drawn-out conversations set in sickly lit hospital halls and over cleared tables in office space;
About Workers Comp. and what the headache folks are willing to give up in order to endure that today is the day that no one went bald.
Today is the day that no one went bald.
Today is the day that no one went bald.
That today is...

There's a brief intermission.

They offer you money for love and a popular song.
A lisence to pill and spare no expense in the supper with big Dr. Moon and Gun.

The dream ends in an extended stay America Kitchen,
you're beating eggs, you look down for the wisk, you see a sealed off wrist on repeat.
Completely destroying the snowglobe and a day begins before and during next...
Between space heaters and constellations.

And again from the bed with the boy in the absense of an absolute asprin.
There watching you through your bedroom window, a winter bee slurs its legs on a half-snipped sprig of barbed wire while you imagine page five gallons pouring pink into the center of clouds.
Or you.
Or the other way around.