Poem-ish - Draft One

Production Factor or The Mumbler in the Kitchen

He believes that things should remain in motion, flux, static. He'll set the microwave to two minutes, but won't let it get to it's preprogrammed destination. And he'll leave the display: 8 seconds. He leaves it for himself. For others. He leaves it remaining. Then, there's lights. The ones in his bath and bedroom that burn all night. Often times over the island in the kitchen. Like a trail. A reminder that he was there. Well-lit breadcrumbs.

He'll turn the tv on, volume down, while motioning with his thin, black brush on linen paper. The gesture soaked up by the paper in water colored dullness. Sometimes he'll unmute it, laughing and repeating lines at night. Missing other lines and wishing he could rewind the program to hear it again. But he knows if he did, he'd miss it again from the laughter. The glow of Comedy Central's late night programming adding to the brightness from the crack of the door.