There is little in the way of illumination beyond the come hither of the one-arm bandit, the dim bulbs and the fluorescents striping in repeat in the mirror behind the teak. She works the tables, throwing hello, hello, hello. He orders a drink and he admires her over the rim. Eventually, she nudges him at … Continue reading Grotesque The Glass.
6/04/20 The power supply cable to the computer begins to fall to pieces in my hands - the plastic coating sheds, revealing the tiny wires beneath. Then, the wires liquefy and pour through my fingers until all that is left is a sticky puddle on the carpet. I prod it with my toe and it … Continue reading dream diaries… 84
8 [photocopy of a snapshot] I cut Lillian's hair every twelfth week, dry it every sixth. It grows. I cut it. I dry it. It has become grey by increments; city pigeon to autumn noon, fading print to cigarette ash. Each accretion of tone slowly highlighting further her pink brittle cheeks, the pools … Continue reading Mirror (8): Pale Airman.
I'm over here - in the hearth - sitting in the fireplace, in the flames, atop the crackling wood. I'll whisper or I'll shout your name as the glow of the logs oranges my skin. The sap bubbles all about me, the pine cones pop, but still I cannot raise a heat. Oh, if only … Continue reading Cold As Mackerel, See.
I rarely see myself in the day mirror anymore, having learned to disappear myself. The day mirror has become my third eye. The day mirror allows me to become magnificent, mercurial. I enter and leave it at will. Within its frame, I free range and, despite being close enough to kiss your ear, I look … Continue reading Mirror (1-3).