Sous Rature


Sawako Nakayasu


Hot wedding rods


Here, the flowers. This is a heat. They crumpled hand in hand. Compressed. Heat furthers. A couple professed it up. A hot time to. Step on it. What compelled you to tie it up. The knot. This is not. To know him is to think you know him. He is not. Or is he. Here, an army of flowers.

Two people, their boiling points. The heat that wasn’t. This is a wave. An epidemic. Suited up surfers see it from afar. The horses are frightened. They get into their cars. Full of boxes. Full of coffee makers. Tea-making appliances. Ketchup-making appliances. A hamburger mold. No hamburger mold. This is a meet. Bells. A mouth, full of boxes. Full of checkmarks. Fifty miles an hour with one rear door open. Sixty miles an hour with one leg out. Seventy miles, a tongue. Panting. Reeling the curve. This is a heat. Someone in front steps on it. The horses stop in their tracks.




The man who seems to be dressed very nicely. The woman who guffawed and small flecks of food flew out of her mouth. The woman who brought her child. The woman who walks very, yes very elegantly in her heels. The man in tuxedo. The women wearing the same color dress and shoes. The man bringing food to people’s tables. The other man bringing food. The man going around with bottles of wine. The woman who has been sitting next to me for seven minutes now. The woman across the table with a rash on the side of her neck and many many very thin very fine bracelets on her left my right arm. The woman taking photographs with a very large camera and a very large flash. The man and woman smiling in front of the camera. The man smiling next to him, whether or not he is in the photograph. The man smiling in the other direction, his back in the photograph. The woman smiling at that man, her elbow possibly in the photograph. The large woman now sitting next to me and eating very steadily. The magenta jacket hanging on the back of the chair on the other side of me. The man whispering something devilishly to another man in the front of the room, holding an instrument made of metal. The man who seems to dance while standing still. The woman holding his hand, who seems to stand still while dancing. The man who tripped on a cord, then immediately recovered, but looked nervously all around to see if anyone saw him. The man holding two women’s hands at the same time in the same hand, with a wine glass in the other hand. The man towards whom they are headed. The man with a very wide arm span. The woman hitting her fork against her glass. The man hitting his fork against his glass. The man hitting his glass. The other man. The other woman. The other people hitting. The last people to keep hitting. The man who kisses the woman. The other man who kisses the other woman. The man who kisses two women. The man who drinks his glass down in fourteen seconds. The man who drinks another in eighteen seconds. The woman with a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. The man standing up near the front of the room. The man speaking enthusiastically into a microphone. The man smiling and making many people laugh. The man who seems to have a twinkle in his eye. The woman who seems to be delighted at what he has just said. The man who has been speaking now for quite a long time. The woman sniffling into her napkin. The man who seems to encourage the woman. The men and women who applaud. The men who start playing their metal instruments. The man and woman dancing slowly. The man dancing with no discernable speed. The woman dancing who ate very quickly in the seat next to me. The woman spinning her dress as she dances. The woman who dances with first one man then another then another. The man who seems to know the words to the song. The man who seems to be singing. The woman who walks around slowly letting people kiss her cheek.