The collective failure of ethical standards
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
four-thirty a.m.
the man is stayed bent over the canvas of my sofa. the man is me the man is him self and I bring down the whip…
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.
Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
I have observed, the theorist I am
love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.
my father holds his favorite drink
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
I am still waiting for the lion
Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then. Bring the dancer back to the stalks.
how does an afternoon turn on its axis?