The Corduroy Mtn. A Poem for Two Patrick Lamothe It is two p.m. There is me and you. This is two. There are two people riding in this car, still one never knows when it is part of something more. You say my name twice before I look up. You are driving and so you cannot return my glance for long. There are two hours left. Two arms and hands try to hold you in place. This is difficult since you are liquid so I pour you into two cups. I pass you around in opposite directions and sing. I do this because I have nothing else to do. It is two p.m. We have two hours left. When I say two days I mean two days and two nights. We never mean what we say. You are two people and those two people are two other people. No one knows the one that sleeps. Two synonyms and two antonyms are eating lunch at a stagecoach diner roadside of state route 2. Every conversation begins and ends in two words. Short-long long-long short-short. What is another word for the moon? The universe in two. Both sides scream yes-yes. A dark mirror glares but its light won't reach us. Constellations of questions marks, question marks between those constellations. You ask me what I am writing. "What I always write" I reply, "something I just remembered." previous | next Added to The Corduroy Mtn. on January the Fifteenth in the year two thousand and nine.