we don’t understand how you can lose a man, his body, his appendages crammed with moving juices. bloated in the salty sea. floating on asphalt. dark hair hiding him in the garage. among the power tools and storage racks made of metal scraps. moving between stilettos and innuendos. we are sure he is not in a box because he speaks to us regularly. from his travels. his memories are composed of tricycles on sidewalks and red oily lipstick smears on his hip flexor. the occasional brass pedestrian. you still say he must be lost. We can hear him, we say. we scream. scream. don’t let go. he keeps his secrets. inside. away from. us.
No comments:
Post a Comment