Kin-kissing is forbidden in this brash town; you have to stand straight with your arms at your sides.

I’m waiting for the moon to rise, standing shiverless like a salt sheath.

Suspended, his days hung before him like a full clothesline during a rainstorm.

Whenever I get frustrated, I spin around in circles. I wear a hole.

You can walk through walls all day long, and never feel like you’re properly in a room.

The screaming of the disco moon was a nice touch.

She says, I think in pictures and it’s hard for me to remember words. I fill all the ice cube trays at once.

Sunny afternoons pull a froth of talking taut around green lawns. I was eating yellow light, blue light, the frail rainbow’d bubbles of thought’s push. A dog somewhere else strobes across cracked streets.

Newly-wakened clouds entwining with soiled-sullen blossoming. You could be so with velocity my cold fingers shuffle pulse and a whorish fullness. Rubbed loose.