A FLOOR LAMP SIGNALS THE LAST FRENCH NAVAL TRANSMISSION OF MORSE CODE BEFORE IT’S CESSATION, FROM THE INSIDE OF A HOTEL ROOM:  “CALLING ALL. THIS IS OUR LAST CRY BEFORE OUR ETERNAL SILENCE.”  

I head to rest
my head and the rest
of my body tonight in this rented bed for an eve
to give up this internal catch 22 (your favorite number)
while trying to figure out how to make the impossible come true

drunk and fighting in hotel rooms... always in hotel rooms... always at weddings...
over only what the drunk could argue over
nothing; over nothing at all
mixed signals from the formerly single... always and forever

initiated upon returning from reception festivities
we seek to speak to the things I only ever forthrightly address in titles
my cries for help, your deep seeded insecurities
and all the semiotic distress signals they evince
the occasions occasionally summon such symptoms
the symptoms from our syndrome that is our inability to communicate

consistently consistent are these breakdowns and their manifestations
with their extended bouts of forbearance, and then the neglect I pile on
I say: if nothing is going to change
then neither am I

and it delivers me here once more
to this revealing of myself and the things written precisely not to be revealed...
and from the moment the words run the optics to the pathways...
to meaning itself
these the things I’ve been meaning to tell you myself... but never do
because now-a-days when I mention anything
you just shut up and shut down down down

and so the sun is setting on these the old days
the old ways of communicating
the now dead way
this talking past Saturday into early Sunday...
now I’ll move forward with the new techniques
brooding quietly
not talking about it
not caring
not giving a fuck

...for that final night in the Ramada will stand as the decommissioning of my service to you

[DIGITAL VIDEO - 18:44]

2008