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Loveexpand_moreWhen the doctors’ voices started turning to noise, I didn’t fight it.
No one was awake and I was hungover young as clean as a piano.
Dexter was unconsciously dictated to by his winter dreams.
I stop and look at the sky. Suddenly: orange, red, pink, blue, green, purple.
He begrudged how money poured through her hands like water.
Her mother singing out the window at trucks slamming the other way.
The world smells brand-new crisp the way an ax cuts fire wood.
A bunny the size of a teacup feasts in the clover, ears lit up in salt-pink light.
Our eyes searched for the island, but ahead there was only overcast.
The end of a relationship, through four six-word stories.
At first he was mortified. Another person harboured ill will towards him.
“Fuck you,” I said, but it was hard to say it with any meaning.
As a child I wanted to behold the elusive squid, the patience of eels.
You slouched on the couch, naked, in front of the air conditioner.
Dr. Zee knows his son is struggling up out of some chemical fog.
