Occupation

by Lise Gaston

What nonsense we talk
What nonsense we're told
What nonsense we are
But I wanted to tell you still how lovely you are
—John Newlove, "Insect Hopes"

What nonsense we talk
We scratch names into smoked glass, tongue
Caulk between the stones
Hiss our lies through air conditioning

We scratch names into smoked glass, tongues
Speech-torn, felted and furred
Lies hiss through air conditioning
What nonsense we're told

Speech-torn, felted and furred
We press our warm bodies into the walls
What nonsense. We're told
What's written into drywall and plaster

Where we rub our beautiful bodies
Against pockmarked paint, our bodies
Written into drywall
What nonsense we are

Under pockmarked paint our bodies
Are ghosted rooms and emptied words
What nonsense we are
We're crab-walking the hallways, faces gaped upside

Down through empty ghosting rooms
We plug water fountains with our tipped and bitten nails
We crab-walk the gaping faceless hallways
We graffiti our genitalia into the ground

We rip our water fountains, biting each other
Our bones grind through escalators
We graffiti our genitalia. On the ground
We press red ears to the thrumming

The grinding of bones up escalators
We push our breasts against doorways, letting
Ourselves in, red ears pressed to the humming
Red intestine of the building where plaster's peeled off

We push our chests against the doorways
Press our sweet soft fingers into
The red intestines of the building, plaster peeled off
But I wanted to tell you still how lovely we are

Our hard, skilled fingers nothing but
Caulk between the stones
But I wanted to tell you still how lovely we are
In our grave and vital nonsense

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