ABANDON FORM
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
the search for a wayward self
Sound engineers believe Alan Rickman possessed the perfect male voice. Early acting teachers told him he sounded like he was speaking from the back of a drainpipe.
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.
No matter how you try to ignore it, you look like him. You look like your father.
People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.
Sitting at the bar on Pacific Avenue. With the seashells in the walls. Same bartender from last year, still here, making the same lethal Mai Tais.
another self emerges between assignments, to follow the dog into winter dusk and watch the snow fall. Not sociable, but perceiving
Infant’s Name: A
Delivery Date: August 1, 2002
The collective
failure
of ethical standards
four-thirty a.m.
My mother has been dead for two hundred and forty-three days. I’ve had plenty of things in my refrigerator for longer.
Share some abandon.
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