![]() | ![]() Sean Cole Duplex Something weird came up and left some forks on my doorstep with a knife that read "Hey idiot, remember? You loaned me these last year, remember? Love!" Love! Last year, Something weird handed me, unlit, a medicine candle for our blackout and I've never lit it, which is weird. Something wierd lives above me, I can hear her shoo her cat from the pan I also loaned her. It's weird what transpires between us. It was three months ago something weird sat on my sofa, saying "army" with her lonely tenor voice, we set the clicker for Victor Borge, ended up with Deepak Chopra, weird. I hugged something weird right before coming down here to write this down. Since it's weird to hug her as much as I can, I do. I find I keep tapping her shoulders like a homeroom drummer, pat her face, it takes hours to say "so long" to each other. Two weeks ago, something weird waned from the heat she'd apparently been experiencing. Started seeing someone! Someone weird! I met him! It was weird the way this was days after my finding someone to be privvy to the other reasons for my body, weird the way I didn't cave in at the vision of the kiss they gave each other, weird the congratulations we slapped into each other's hands. Some moments ago, something weird came up to me and said "remember" before I left her apartment to come down here to write this down. Well, she didn't say it. So was it "remember?" or "Remember!" I'm not sure. She locked onto my shoulder with her lashes before I left. She wrapped something slick around my eyeballs, handed me something close, and said something that sounded like, "I left your forks." Audio of Duplex by Sean Cole Boston 1999 Index |