In & out

In and out, in and out, in and out of the world in and out of you and me, in and out of everything in the middle of in and out of everything that is red in colour when it is mistaken for blood or the shadow of it on pillows filled with breath and cotton or the foam of the seas with histories of a billion trillion years ever since the world began with water that has hiding in it salt from a million years ago inside a shaker with many holes on top – shake, shake, shake – dance like a dream spicing up sandwiches and curries in bowls making them salty faulty quality of revolver bullets magnum point six eight close range bang-bang and a thud but stories like that end with someone walking up so bored so boring with droplets of sweat on foreheads caps hiding balding heads a string of pearl around the neck slow tightening noose loosened up to avoid choking or death of a salesman when Miller is asleep with empty bottles of beer rolling on the floor the cot is drunk and the bed is unstable and the legs all four of them are shaky and the night creaks whenever someone falls or whenever someone falls asleep moving in their sleep moving in their dreams going from here to there, coming from there to here blinking lights of the rainy night sky starry like Vincent’s with thick brush-strokes that go in circles making wild impressions on a tender young mind busy climbing up trees longing to go back to being monkeys and oh that isn’t even the beginning of the story and things have already begun to end and there is no one who would listen to such complaints of hot cups of tea in and out, in and out, in and out