Thomas Patrick Levy


Some mornings the Tetris bricks are too cold to move. I rub them, I tingle, I put small bombs on my lips and the bombs do not explode but I press them against the bricks and breathe heavy until the bricks are warm. I pretend the bricks are the place behind your ear I will only touch at night. I push them hard and gentle and still sometimes they will not budge. With my marker I write secret codes on their faces. I write YOU ARE NO GOOD FOR ME MY LOVE and I write YOU ARE NOT STARTING TO LOOK MONSTROUS. Sometimes my codes are lies. Sometimes they come to life so quick the codes have disappeared and sometimes you come into the warehouse later in the afternoon and say YOU HAVE MADE ME A SPECIAL HEART and I try so hard but can’t make for you a tear.



And sometimes the warehouse is so full of Tetris bricks there isn’t any room for either of us and we instead stay out in the yard, beneath the blue and yellow glow of the warm times. You know how the screens sometimes count and flash, how sometimes my eyes are fixed or fused, full of your most arousing sentences, your accusing sciences. How sometimes I want to wait around for you to say LIFE IS A MONKEYWOOD BOWL, how sometimes it is daytime in fast-forward and sometimes we just stand still watching the shadows of clouds cloud over us like swarms of soft mice.



And sometimes the warehouse is blank, gray and mealy from wall to wall. There aren’t any bricks anywhere. I think WE ARE GOING QUICKLY OUT OF EXISTENCE. I think IF THERE ARE NO MORE BRICKS THE GAME CAN’T BE OVER. I say I WANT TO STAND ON A PODIUM FASHIONED AS A REPLICA OF YOUR PECULIAR HEART. So I make my way to build your heart. I use only your favorite purple bricks, I use only the fastest strongest bricks. When I’m finished everyone tells me YOU ARE DOING THIS WRONG. I check your heart with a pair of tweezers. I check it gently and it is right but they still say YOU ARE MAKING A MOCKERY OF OUR TRADES, they still say YOU ARE JUST ANOTHER FUCKING IMMIGRANT. And yes it is summertime so I lay out in the middle of the warehouse also, I take off all my clothes and lay apart, sprayed like coolant, cool and full of floating pollen, dreaming all the other ways I could’ve used to build you heart and face.



And I haven’t ever forgotten any of your dreams. You see even through distraction I have saved all the glass bricks to the side of the warehouse. I have moved everything out of place for you. I do it every day for no reason at all. Sometimes I say THIS IS WHAT MY HEART TRIES TO CALL THE GAME. Sometimes you see me doing this and your knuckles ache. Frustration is the brown brick that doesn’t match any other bricks at all, actually, frustration is how the smudges on the glass bricks never really go away. I have so many laborers laboring every hour. I rebuild the entire front of the storefront. I say I ALWAYS LISTEN TO EVERYTHING YOU WHISPER. You see I always listen to your talk. You see I am a goddamn idiot. Your heart is lost. I am in Missouri trying to till a field. You write WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN. You write YOU ARE LOSING THE GAME AGAIN. And of course I am. I am sitting cross legged using my fingers to build a new monster. I am learning to knit. I say I AM JUST KIDDING OF COURSE. I say I WILL NEVER SPEAK TO YOUR SISTER AGAIN.

%d bloggers like this: