1. Fear is space. Space is fear,Compartmentalized,Closed spaced,Concealed. Common spaces,In a cold place,Where the rest of the world traipses. Enclosed in warmth and vitality,A lonely,Quarantined,Crevice,Where whispered echoes,Reinforce,Every vile confession. Force your way through,The hanging splinters of imagery,And fractals of light,Twisting words,With salty drips of condensation, And the sweet sickness in the
Still wet with dewthe Earththat draws the living from the dead now cradles newborn fawnplays the part of grassy bed The sunaway since yesterdaysurges through the meadow brings a thousand shades of greendrapes the fawn in hunter’s shadow Posed for deaththe hunter stands and contemplates the deer His heart cries
The snow came early that year. The shortened days made so much shorter by the heavy mist that hung over the city. Merideth rarely found her way outdoors but when she did she was met by chill winds and icy walks. It was not something she sought out willingly. And
When I was 6, I had a tiny brown cat. Josie. As in The Pussycats. She had these cosmic eyes like inkwells, so iridescent and reflective that I swear I relived the bullshit Mirror Stage of development all over again, hypnotized into a brand new identity. Our parallel bond was
Spread your arms out the wayyou held her onceshe grew big enough to swallow youin one gulp. Feel first her cactus spinesacross your neck and thenher gentle belly laugh. the joke? Hardwired to the dark back seat of a borrowed car, no one holds a gun to her but all
The ideal is somebody comes over. They don’t have to be sexy but should at least be cute. They have delicate hands. They are holding a claw framing hammer. They wear something with polka dots. They move calmly and directly, not hurried but succinct. They climb into my bed. They
I threw my daughter into the air and she became old. Are you a woman now? I said, bumbling her around in my arms. She spit up water. I wiped my shirt. She clapped. What horrible things can you tell me of the future, I wondered. I threw her high
There was an old couple who had built a boy of wood. They taught him to walk and he fell and when they picked him up he laughed and danced. The father, for the first time, had done something to be thrilled of. He carried his boy on his shoulders.
The first time I saw my father naked, he shut the door. When I saw him again he was sleepwalking. Asleep, he pulled everything from our fridge and threw it on the floor. I stepped on an egg. He turned. Look at me, he said. He looked cut from stone.
I went to see the undertaker. Get in, he said. He brandished his shovel. It’s easy, he said. He gave me his shovel and climbed into the hole. Throw dirt on me, he said. Was this a trick? Wouldn’t he raise up higher and higher, the fresh ground settling beneath