CrazyhorseThe telephone company calls and asks what the fuss is.Betty from the telephone company, who's not concernedwith the particulars of my life. For instanceif I believe in the transubstantiation of Christor am gladdened at 7:02 in the morning to repeatan eighth time why a man wearing a hula skirt of toolsslung low on his hips must a fifth time track mudacross my white kitchen tile to look down at a phone jack.Up to a work order. Down at a phone jack. Up to a work order.Over at me. Down at a phone jack. Up to a work orderbefore announcing the problem I have is not the problemI have because the problem I have cannot occurin this universe though possibly in an alternateuniverse which is not the responsibility or in any waythe product, child or subsidiary of AT&T. With practiceI've come to respect this moment. One man in jeans,t-shirt and socks looking across space at a manwith probes and pliers of various inclinations, nothingbeing said for five or ten seconds, perhaps I'm stillin pajamas and he has a cleft pallet or is so tallthat gigantism comes to mind but I can't rememberwhat causes flesh to pile that high, five or ten secondsof taking in and being taken in by eyes and a brain,during which I don't build a shotgun from what's at hand,oatmeal and National Geographics or a taser from haircaught in the drain and the million volts of frustrationpopping through my body. Even though. Even though his faceis an abstract painting called Void. Even thoughI'm wondering if my pajama flap is open, placing meat a postural disadvantage. Breathe I say inside my head,which is where I store thoughts for the winter. Allis an illusion I say by disassembling my fists, letting eachfinger loose to graze. Thank you I say to kill the silencewith my mouth, meaning fuck you, meaning dieyou shoulder-shrugging fusion of chipped chromosomesand puss, meaning enough. That a portal exists in my wallthat even its makers can't govern seems an accurate mirrorof life. Here's the truce I offer: I'll pay whatever's askedto be left alone. To receive a fax from me stand besideyour mailbox for a week. It will come in what appearsto be an envelope. While waiting for the fax reintroduceyourself to the sky. It's often blue and will transmitwithout fail everything clouds have been trying to say to you.
Spirit Dity Of No Fax Line Dial Tone Analysis Bob Hicok critical analysis of poem, review school overview. Analysis of the poem. literary terms. Definition terms. Why did he use? short summary describing. Spirit Dity Of No Fax Line Dial Tone Analysis Bob Hicok Characters archetypes. Sparknotes bookrags the meaning summary overview critique of explanation pinkmonkey. Quick fast explanatory summary. pinkmonkey free cliffnotes cliffnotes ebook pdf doc file essay summary literary terms analysis professional definition summary synopsis sinopsis interpretation critique Spirit Dity Of No Fax Line Dial Tone Analysis Bob Hicok itunes audio book mp4 mp3 mit ocw Online Education homework forum help