poured myself a glass of shame. I can’t taste it doesn’t mean it has no taste. all I’ve swallowed, swallows me. when I was made of water, water didn’t have a flavor either.
I once listened to the cold mosaic at St. Paul’s dome while my father whispered opposite. He spoke of blood and history. Folks tend to murmur the wild and holy places, to texture the roaring quiet in which comprehension is secondary to some sense of sanctity: this mumbled joy we’ve ground down— gunshot or whisper […]
In my car in front I re-rubberbanded two bouquets to one with balance, impossible to know inside you were deciphering your escape, me, a catastrophe of cellophane at my feet, and you burst when you saw me, saw flowers, and I knew then at the top of the staircase. The worst part: this boring trope […]
after the Heidelberg Project Say you’ve got your ear pinned to the linoleum because your toes are blistered with gravel, you’re hot, and the fan is whispering sweet anythings into your brain. The cat’s toenails rattle the ground and soft echoes of a somewhere else pulse into your ear drum. This is not the first […]
I love Bambi when a hunter shoots Bambi’s mother I hide under the seat until the movie ends My mother holds me whispers she’ll never leave I don’t know that love is my mother I only know her perfume her red lips her cigarettes are my home I am in love with Ricky Nelson’s white […]
Buriden’s Ass is a somewhat troubled philosophical thought experiment intended to highlight the deficiency of reason. The hypothesis is that if a hungry ass were placed before two identical bales of hay, it would starve to death for lack of a good reason to choose one bale over the other. We stopped a glance at […]