she was the third beer. i. not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; ii. nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. iii. but the third, the one you drink because it’s there, because it can’t hurt, and because what difference does it make?More
a momentary lapse of reason
inner beauty can fade, too
i picture you leaving your coat on the hood. wallet and keys. the crisp envelope. we all know what it’s like to imagine the thing— how glaring and suddenly close the tools are if you need them: a stoplight, a prescription. a few feet of rope. or that joke of a pistol you chose at […]More
i wanted to skim over that night, calcifying my shame into something blurry
and manageable,like a rumor about a stranger.