i sent you where you are.

Jared Joseph

The hair was red and now it’s far.
The coat is shag and flaxen now.
i sent you where you are. In a flaxen night
-gown pink with the grown hair dyed that morning
sky looks up towards stars or Venus. For
i am an engine and i’m rolling on. The world is all bending
and breaking from me. For sweetness through endless
revisions, i sent you where you are. Comedians in Cars
Getting Coffee, one wears a sherpa’s beard saying isn’t it
strange to be anything at all. But i sent you where you are.
Where i am is in love. What it is is birds screaming.
i sent you where you’re dreaming
of Captain Expando. The doll has a butt.
The lip of the jar the lip of the cat is to
meet. i sent you where 
you’re in hot water
Do you come here often you said to the hot tub
version of me. And yet you sent me where i am to be
with you. i am with you, i said sad, unable to
play. Do you prefer the light or the dark you are
play-asking me and i said stupid the light, the lit end
of the tub that was hidden from view of the pool
so we could play, and you said Well i prefer
the dark, but the dark end was in view of the 
family, and you sat in the drunk family
‘s view just askew beyond the edge or soft corner
‘s hard light in hard water, and so
we sat on either end of the tub and you smiled
and i stared. i was in the light in only view of
you and everyone else omitted. But a stare is not a touch. But i am
cold in the hot view. But it is you
who sent me where i am. i am in the light hidden
You are in the dark in view. i am invisible in view.
You are out of view in visibility. We see
past each other now you hold your breath longer
than i do. i hold nothing. The water holds *
me and you. i don’t come here often. i sent you 
stars where you are. Pink ceiling and granite walls handsome.
Fuck against rock in Mist
Room. Knowing is a long form.
White brain matter myelin.
i only have eyes but i am the eye.
i am the white snail leading there to
the heavenly part without beauty.
My part of cumulosadness sky holds
no cirrus clouds just stratocomic.
The buena vista is a story and a photo.
The novel is dog-eared and i love you is kaput.
Here i am summering in what i am
In the hot tub cold shower night
but tonight
i lived. i sent to your place
but you were self-sent, 
tannic, the mouth dried, the fish in your eye
died flopping, wondrous full-lipped images petrified.
When Medusa looks at you you get hard.
i blow smoke in cat’s yellow dried eye
slit with red of stress or aging
which is a rage thing.
Same form of old face.
We never look into our own eyes.
Always sit in parking lots forty-five degrees askew
drinking forties five times a week in light on a loan. But there is little light
in the long line of dark, little lights in the lot’s lot of lamps.
He was happy when the night was tight, he
was on the moon. It is full of darkness
It does not fill the voice slightly or quietly and loud with drunkenness
are the teens on the street Teeming with
stress, and desperate being! and very depressed
and aging
little coat of night, 
day shag with shadows
clashing strata of the altitudes.
Who is talking to the tigers in the cafeteria
trays. i sent you where you are.
You were where you were.
I sent you, you sent me
sangria. Drink. We are the night ahead