“Sometimes When we Touch” by Dan Hill drifts from the speakers in the waiting room. I have to look up the singer because I’ve forgotten, if I ever knew his name at all.
Tuning out the sappiness is impossible. I can’t focus on anything else as
There were never many trains for us to take
and most are long gone by now.
The big arrivals board is blank. Or broken.
The help desk went dark hours ago.
That scruffy local crosses the decrepit hall
for another quick one at the bar.
He seems
Below the footbridge, traffic was an endless wave. Sarge fragged a bottle over the chainlink. It landed in the crusher of a passing garbage truck, shattered.
“Your ride is here, don’t miss it,” he said, cocking a thumb at the receding machine.
I
Julia Forrest is a Brooklyn based artist. She works strictly in film and prints in a darkroom in her apartment. Her art has always been her top priority and in this digital world, she continues to work with traditional wet film processing. She prefers
1. We weren’t supposed to be home, both of us feigning sick, underwear down around some of our ankles. Senior year. Promises made to love each other forever.
2. Morning announcements interrupted by the turning on of TVs, the large boxes anchored to
i
When I awoke, I realized that both my contact lenses and my mother were missing, although at first I was far more concerned about the contact lenses. After all, without them how much more difficult would it be to find my Mom, not to mention our
It’s New Year’s Day and the streets look hungover. In the backseat, Malcolm and I have loaded in our French artist friends, Bullet and Stephen. They hold hands and mutter romantic bits we’d like to understand and mutter. Love talk in English
We are born, buried for a while, then spring up just as everything
is closing. ~ John Ashbery
Judges marched backwards up the steps. I saw it was time to question the trees. Now all the leaves lie brown in the ditch. Girls gone. The newly shoed horses
heat wave day. a marriage proposal between the moth and the windowsill. it hovers an inch in the air. trapped between peeling ledge and rigid wall of blinds — a suffocating union.
he, humanoid, topless, wilts in the hot centre of the room. like the
I’ve just about had all I’m going to take from this place. In the mornings it’s foggy, the clouds come in at night, low, cover everything with dew and wetness. And then by the time the sun comes up it’s already hot, humidity bringing sweat to my forehead.
We parked ourselves on 26 acres in the woods on a little old mountain north of Myersville, MD in mid-March and only leave when absolutely necessary. Not much is necessary. Here we have assorted bodily visitors, plus Doug, who steals food from the birds,
In the entryway, Debbie says, I have something new to show you.
I figure it’s a 75” flat screen or a shiny car in the garage. Then she tells me it’s in her room. And I know she means a new way we can fuck. Then I hear her mom call out from the
Dear Gov. Rick Snyder,
At age 74, I expected my body to
change. To wilt. To fade. But I’m
a frail saltine spread with peanut
butter just for good humor. I expect
to follow road maps and rivers
greater and longer than
Outside my window today it is raining. Seven bumblebees struggle against the drops. They strain to bear their own weight, emerald fronds of grass below ready to receive what pollen falls from their overladen bodies, what honeyed
Even confuzational curtains drawn aside
manipulating the punch-up show stayed hidden
Fogged atmospheres, the concocted narratives baffled audiences,
distracted attention, fooled understanding the marauding scenes,
mutating plots
In multiplications of