identity
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Letters to Mike Tyson
Dear Mr. Tyson,
One Day We’ll Synthesize A Real Woman In A Lab
discovering the intended use of razor blades
Coming up Four
Lydia’s replica is downstairs washing dishes.
Gold Digger
The morning meant hangover and strong coffee, juices delivered automatically from the smoothie bar Elena preferred.
”42″
indiscriminate sensor fucking left me wet and hot
violent night
mind shatters / surface breaks and flows / imaginary interior flowing out /
psychodrama
The table’s set for four. Kitchen is meatloaf scents, gravid with warm-rolls smell.
Paved with Good Intentions
Bartholomew brought the hat around back once the show was over. He had passed it around as he always did, but the last few nights, it just didn’t fill.
Cold War Escapades
“I’m gonna knock you into next week, boy.”