I’ll kill myself if you leave
John Doe
Our lovemaking is a demilitarized zone.
Our lovemaking is a demilitarized zone.
I vomited
up a prophecy in a dive bar,
inhaling hot dogs.
I can tell she’s not convinced. But I’ve been Googling symptoms: confusion, nausea, loss of appetite, changes in sleep patterns, visual hallucinations, erratic behavior.
“you’re bad at finishing beverages that aren’t alcoholic,” you told me
You must stop dating
physicists, that sere barnacling across
the cold, leeward faces of rocks.
writing fiction in which people google things,
suffering in a very abstract way
trying very hard to shut the fuck up & failing
At the head of the conference table sat a man scrolling on his phone, whom Michael intuited was the leader of this secret society.
I finger a ring of keys and wonder what doors they might unlock.
It’s a sin,
to desire different architecture, I’m told
in a cellar not far from here, wine waits years to peak
before a bottle is cracked open only to empty
a bruise.
Burying me # alive
in training pants and # rags is my son’s
# gift of sorts
The other day she showed up at André’s apartment in the middle of the night with a red rose and, in the bottom of her purse, a steak knife...
He sits alone on the beach with his feet in the sand, cigarette in mouth, eyes on the water, though there’s no one out here who knows him, and it’s not clear what he wants, unless what he wants is to be alone, in which case he picked the wrong part of the strand.
I worried I had magically bloated between 9 a.m. and lunch time, even though I’d only eaten the prescribed six saltine crackers.