so2 – rhizomatic architecture

loaf
lo-
  af

luf

LOAF, the lovely oaf sat on his bed, smoking weed
drinking beer
tastes like beef spit and it was mostly,
because loaf was so much lazy he didnt chew his food much either
large man.  sagging couch.  young man.

loaf's mother went out to work telling him, go get a job! with much spite.

loaf waved one hand, the back of it serene and hairy.  crumb infested.  love you, mom he said.

the tv went out that day, because cable was broken.  loaf swore and got his phone
called up his stoner buddy.  dude the tv is not working.  yeah.  can you come and fix this? no
mine's broken too.  shit

loaf went up to his room and lay on his bed.  soggy with spilt bread bits, dripped cheese nasty
socks and who knows what.  he couldn't sleep.  wasn't sleepy.  he needed to get some weed. call
his friend and no answer. loaf watched the trees outside swaying.  a small bird sat on a branch
calling out, its hormonal frustrations in nasty high pitched rhythms.  loaf's little slutty sis
yelled that she was taking the car. no loaf said, hobbling out. i need it. (to get weed... beer
maybe?) but she was gone. he watched her skanky butt bob into the car and it drove off, speaker
pumping.

loaf went outside and put his hand up to his eye.  to hide eyes with his fat forearm.  some kid
and his buddies played soccer. the ball rolled to loaf and loaf picked it up, tossed it back to
them. he walked down the street, deciding to go to the park.  he played there younger

loaf passed by market street where loaves of bread sat in their heat.  he eyed some women strut
but didn't say anything.  if you don't have a sense of humor, loaf said...

the river went under a bridge. and he used to sit here, throw rocks. he had his first kiss here
and though the place looked the same, he didnt need to see his reflection to know things werent

the factory across the river had long stopped pumping black puffy smoke.  loaf felt nostaligic;
he reached for a stoogie and came up empty. he layed back in the humid grass to watch the blue.
before falling asleep, thinking that even if he was out of breath, without weed, without any tv
life could not get any better.

loaf
silly man
unabased with his somatic pleasures
sometimes yelling at his mom to go away when she pounds on the bathroom door
i know what you're doing in there
fuck you mom

loaf
full of love
his pudgy hands an old musty nintendo controller.  explaining the game to his bored
younger cousins. then beating them at their own fighting game on the newer psp3 and
they roll their eyes at him.  you're so boring, they tell him. his cue to toss back
another beer

loaf
let me show you how to get the secret item, he says
so stoned he forgets to eat.  and the carls jr his friend got him
sits by him, until tomorrow.  it's still good, he decides when he
wakes.  and he eats it

oh loaf
he would bunker at his friends house to try and learn to fix cars
when his mom throws him out.  and greasey under nails goes to the
diner down the street to laugh with the local ditz waitress later
on, to ask her to a date and she goes.  a month later, she breaks
his heart; she had so much fun.  but she realizes that she cannot
stay. she must go back to her husband and her son. they found her
and they want her back still; after all she's done...

loaf doesnt go to work for a while
and his friend threatens to throw him out of their place.  so he
shows up slow and still fixes cars.  rubbing his greasy hands on
a greasy rag, before eating lunch, or punching the cash register
as if that fixes anything. loaf stays late and so does his buddy
but the business goes down, his friend claims that loaf was rude
but the books say that his friend stole money for cocaine, maybe
loaf didnt care about cocaine, but look at that. and the day, it
comes.

loaf goes out of the apartment when the sherrif knocks.  even if
before he would just lay on the bed, with dirty sheets over head
and this time, when his friend was out, getting more coke, steal
if he had to.  loaf lets the sherrif enter, and he says, i don't
want any of this stuff. leaves his old video games, porn mags he
can't get the grease out from under the nails.  walks the street
wondering where to go. his sister long since arrested or perhaps
in another state (of being?)... he sits at that bridge once more
this time, looking into the water, but it's just green moss that
he sees.

remembers what he said watching women 
he lusted for, that he might approach
still feeling they wouldnt appreciate
his desire. about having a sense of humor... realizes he's just
gotten fatter, even when working more and more. watching trains
rumble by track
track
track
one after the other.  he doesnt even know his mom's number.  he
just throws a few rocks into the river. lays in the grass watch
the birds play.  sees the trees sway
thinks to himself before drifts away
could life get any better?

loaf.

  lo-
    af

loaf.
the name known to bums across wichita
they talk about him, between alleyways
rocking out to garage indie bands
sometimes out of tune
always out and aggressive

his teachings across the midwest
where the grass is so green
and the sky so blue.  you'd
think every horizon a postcard

little barn houses, small fences
every other street is a US highway

sprayed across concrete bricks in new york
in red yellow and blue

loaf was here
     the smiling faces in skidrow
where every other homeless is a child
skin so black. faces and bodies so thin
loaf now with a beard, like santa claus
maybe
only shabbier, with a dirty flannel blanket
some old lady gave him one morning when he stood shivering
the first person he touched
loaf
still clumsy, throwing soccer balls to children
throwing rocks into the river
watching the train go by

everything is deep.  everything is fine
loaf thinks he sees the long ghost of rumi
and schiller together in a late night 99 cents store
in brooklyn

he follows them, touching the products they touch
leaving behind a trail of finger prints
no one stops him
his expression estactic.  his feet are blistered
and bleeding a little.  he says to walk naked with the earth
you wouldn't wear gloves to hold your mother's hand, he says.

he thinks they part ways in the feminine hygeine section
but they do not
he follows them out and they are gone

once again in the snow he is shivering.
gives his blanket to a lost boy.  takes the boy to the police
the police keep him for questioning

when the tramuatized parents arrive the boy is grinning
shows his parents the dirty blanket proudly
the police show the parents an empty cell

they turn to the child, 
he astonished, has no blanket

who organizes the homeless to sing carols during xmas
who brings the runaways back home
    or leads the police to domestic disputes
who leaves a trail of flowers in snow
    a shape of foot prints
brings a distraught mother back home
finds his sister when she survived a car crash

my in dreams it's still the same
loaf breaks himself a piece off,
offers it as flesh
  but never himself so endless
  a name for bread
  of every language
  sustanence do we
  get it when we need it
  do we find it
  when we look?

  it is prevailent in all things
  an undercurrent always present
  buried too easily in loud trauma
  when we most easily lose equilibrium
  the imbalance of noise
  topsy turvy
  and when we need most the quietude 
  available if you are the utmost
  receptive to it
  always there
  like the sky
expansive, 
open
overcoating