MY HANDS SMELL LIKE INCENSE BUT IN MY EARS ARE TIDES, pulsing. tides, in and out, swelling and roaring, sheets of blood washing over the top step; cascading earthward, splattering, smacking and washing away a million tiny instances of dust, aged polyurethane, and sainthood.
i remember too much, and i work feverishly to hide it. i appear dumb, fawn-like, and impervious to cold reason. i am, instead, the first citizen of a new nation. as such, i must remain diplomatic. Continue reading “THIS IS THE PART WHERE YOU FORGET YOU’RE SLEEPING”