24
Untitled
Reading on a hardwood floor
Imagining picnics
And pottery
Sipping whiskey she looked up
At him through junk eyes and posed
Absurd questions
He was so drunk
He thought it was cute
Borders melting into Monet-looking mess
Puddles of brain juice jiggled
She bragged about
Silly indiscretions
He couldn’t focus so he smiled
Bitter like soy sauce on chapped
Lips
She leaned in to kiss him and almost
Missed
He only noticed that she had tried and
Pressed his mouth to her neck
Like wax fingerprints
On text books
He thought the kiss was as empty as old newspaper boxes
Blurry shoes with no feet
She said unsure things and confused language with math
But it was honest
He thought that
All things considered
This wasn’t enough
His clammy hands ran past the moment
Into his pockets
He fumbled for his lighter thinking
This was as good as it would get
Sober or not
Lit a cigarette and his vision cleared up a bit
Her eyes sunk and bloody
Her skin hollow
All of it lacking
The name’s Gene, King of Dive-y Rock and Roll Bars.
I’m a writer/grifter currently writing and grifting in Chicago.
Ideally my writing is the smell of bowling alleys
and the sound of old typewriters.
Usually it’s in English.
I’ve been previously published in Verve, Apocalypse,
Vowel Movements and Robot Communism.
