the skinny on Cannibalism

Today I put a knife and fork in my back pocket in the event I run into yet another astute individual who finds it imperative to inform me of the importance of shoveling much more food into my mouth.

on venus

unbosom

Vivian. Hawaii. To war. Write anything. Just write. Then: vodka and cigarettes. Now: diet coke and peppermint gum. Tit for tat. Whine. Two glasses a night for the haunted hoof. Will blush in a box be next? Those quaint old women with petite mint juleps. A pounding death. Wholly incomplete. Fitting. Everything about this world splits half to half. Then a quarter. Next a dime. An oxymoron. Perhaps a regular one as well. What could it record in the pages of my mind? Bent palm trees. A sonic boom offset by distant knocking. Laundry service. White towels. A strange odor that fades with exposure. We are negatives in constant solution. Mine burns. I exist in reflection that is too tightly focused. Direction? 3546. I hate to obey. Worn paths foster no growth. Here every word sounds alike, akin. y. The code I cannot decipher spells out the key of Me. Can you see? Look. Blink. Step back a bit. It's there. Now give it five and count to 10.