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Tweet You pointedly turn your head left and so do I; walking towards each other, past. Your hair is a different cut now. My skin is tanned caramel for a change. We both have new tattoos. My pant cuffs drag on the tiles and planks collecting dust. Your breasts are parted by the crinoline strap . . . → Read More: Negating Intimacy Tweet I would no longer know your real face in a crowd. I only recognize wax paper skin, bedsores, baldness and thrush; the you that looked melted in the sun: a thalidomide. This you had spread through memory by the capillary effect, like the expanding puddle of your piss—the time you yanked the catheter and . . . → Read More: Ignoring Your Corpse Tweet I catch my neighbor slick-fisted and popeyed, baring down hard, shoulder shaking like a boxer working a speed bag, him working himself. Even through fifteen feet of dark, two glass panes, I can see him blush—cheeks’ capillaries engorged, as he becomes aware of me aware of him. His head drops away suddenly, isolating me . . . → Read More: Apartment Building Tweet Because we both have held ourselves together with fishnet as clothing; because we both have lost the ability to cry for real life the way we cry for films; because we both have dreamt that our teeth are falling out— moldering, crumbling, leaving moonscape craters and the negative space in smooth, hollow sockets; I . . . → Read More: Triage Tweet Anxious as an ambulance gridlocked: still and jittery. An incandescent rectangle, eye blue siren, wrecks a jam-thick gloam, dark as the throat behind closed lips, where a tremulant, “Hello,” blenching, now rests. Pressboard lacquered black exacerbates the tiny vibrations ’til the shivers become roars. They will not stop; continue in intervals: sixteen screams punctuated . . . → Read More: Vibrate Only Tweet She does not take her shoes off, though it is warm and she is more than forty minutes early. And she has brought a tatty scarlet cardigan from the trunk, from the Good Will garbage bag, on which to sit, though the sand this high up—by the Champlain grass, but still well below the . . . → Read More: Ebb Tweet That was the day of the smell. He lazed in the shower, slowly massaging shampoo into the smoothness of his bald pate, out of habit, for comfort. He washed his hair that day the same way he had since childhood; though only a score of strands remained, he pushed his pink fingers through it . . . → Read More: Closed Even When Open Tweet 0-302 ft. Daddy named me Honus, but everyone’s always only called me what he called me: Onus. Lose the “H.” He told me someday I’d get the joke. I don’t. But there’s lots I don’t get. Like acts of God. Like how to do life, nowadays. But I don’t need to understand things to . . . → Read More: Horse Latitudes Tweet Angie’s seen him adjust himself two times today; he doesn’t want to risk a third. Of all people, she would file a complaint. Garrett takes little steps, scampers into the furthest aisle between 1990 and the brick wall. There, he reaches down to fix himself again. He pinches the bottom edge of the fabric . . . → Read More: Contretemps Tweet Two Across is ‘love’ and he tells her so and she fills it in. He waits for her reaction; there is no reaction. The clue was ‘amorous sentiment’ and he solved it easily because he sits at the counter with her and the shampoo in her shower damp hair is redolent. “One Down is . . . → Read More: Holophrastic |
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