Class Notes: A Communication Model

on the Oberst's refrigerator

crayon, washable in looping squiggles,
not quite a rainbow, not quite a person
but a family none the less, together.

taken down.

connect the dots ripped
out of a couloring book
after learning how to count.

taken down.

a tracing of a hand, fingertip
feathers yellow, red, &
blue with a beak on the thumb

taken down.

an A- state spelling test
Mississippi & Missouri correct
but Coneticut caused problems.

taken down.

I want to be a fireman, I
want to be an architect, I want
to be a musician.

taken down.

a bundle of receipts, yellow &
white, crumpled & signed
to keep track of the money going out

taken down.

my family is reduced to names
on a shopping list, one square of
wants & a hope for a phone call.

telephone 8

telephone 7

telephone 6 and 6.5

i can only handle one friend who was
just broken up with (over the phone)
at a time. voice mail: "joe and i had
another fight and i'm just calling to
talk." in person, the cell phone in
the grass, lying flat on our backs
in the park: "bryan said he didn't want
to be with me." i wait for my phone
to beep, telling me ian returned my
text message, which i told myself i
wasn't going to send, but did anyway.
i can't call her back; i can't make her
feel better in the grass (and the mos-
quitos are coming out); he doesn't text
me back.

let's only talk in person from now
on, because it's too hard not to see
your face and i already forgot how you
smile. i don't know you well enough
to be comfortable text messaging you
when i want to know how you're doing
and be able to see it come from your voice
without the static on the line and the
roommate in the other room with the tv
on, but i don't want to have the 'where
is this going?' conversation, because
i'm trying really hard to see if this
new thing could work, but you live too
far away for me to be okay with not
hearing from you until i see you on
the weekend and we aren't clear with
anything. let's just talk in person (and
have the 'where is this going?' con-
versation).

telephone 5

the entire
electronic universe

strapped &
cased,

leatherbound &
belted,

to brown
khaki

pants that
never

ring.

telephone 4

telephone 3

pick up some milk & OJ
keep the mobile device & its antenna
pop tarts, waffles, & cranberry juice
2.5 centimeters (1 inch) from your body

do you need anything else?
nearly every electronic device is subject to
no, i just wanted to know
Radio Frequency (RF) energy interference from external sources
where you were & when
if inadequately shielded, designed, or otherwise
will you be coming home?
configured for RF energy compatibility

in a little while, I have to go to
the Specific Absorption Rate (SAR) limit for
the gas station & get fuel for the
mobile phones used by the public
lawnmower & then I will be on my way
is 1.6 Watts/Kg averaged over one gram of tissue

telephone 2

telephone 1

addicted to the telephone
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa tetherphone
i am always a phone call away
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa never away
just in case my car breaks
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa down

the sweat crackle of her voice
(it actually sounds different)
& i am ever seeking the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sound of sweetness
aaaaaaaaaa giddy cute talking to animals & babies voice

that is the closest thing to
a smile i can get--
the intonation the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa reflection--
bounced off of clouds & filtered
through the cosmic microwave background

an invisible (time elapsed) embrace.

homephone

i don't even have
text messaging
on my phone.
My stepfather dis-
connected it
because he didn't want
to pay the bill.

For my birthday
i will ask him
for a new cell phone
which he can likely
get for free
& then disable the
text messaging features.

an on-vacation post

There is something very
desperate in being excited
to get a text message, finding
one not there, resigning to
send it yourself, trying to
capture missing/love/carefree
at the same time in a few
thriftily arranged consonants,
then waiting for a return
message you already know won't
meet your expectations, or at
least match (in your eyes) the
same missing/love/carefree
that it is replying to.

remember when: a wandering

remember the nights when we were just like this
and i couldn't breath from holding my breath in my chest
beating like a drum like a rain dance like clapping thunderclouds
and no rain came
remember the nights that you never told me about
and i sat in the dark
the rug sparking around my feet like a tiny storm of commets
falling in the blackness behind my open eyes
and i sat
remember the nights when i called and left messages
that you never heard under the clamor
of voices and promises and tipping chins and screams
that i could not give voice to
in thirty seconds after a mechanical beep
so i said nothing
remember the nights when i waited and waited for the shower
and heat mixed with cold pounding drops
on my back and my knotted head of hair from shaking my head
no over and over in your eyes in my head
but i meant it
remember the nights like a spilled glass of water
i slipped from myself spilled out myself on the floor
unvacuumed for weeks, the dust settling in the emptiness
of your voice and
oh so many
poems about emptiness
and shit that happens
but really doesn't
but it feels like it
happens
and hurt this much
i'm exaggerating for no reason
except for to give reason
to the sick i feel
growing like a
living, breathing
lump
in my large intestines
and any other organs
that i can remember from
middle school.