A temporary tattoo of a thong string is stuck on me like a password too gross to forget.
Publications get routinely destroyed or reissued with the face blocked out.
The mirror image has a zoom lens.
I forgot about the way you hug.
The leather jacket picks up the floor’s gossip while tied around my waist.
Emails return in a different font.
Our tree swallowed a chain like a mouth full of food tries to smile.
The bus makes the light move through dirty windows.
Let’s see if it comes out.
When the question arises of how the film transferred to digital someone shouts Dull!
I try to undo the joke book’s categories.
Antennae tilt and drip sucking on gravity.
The hand dryer blows extra air on the garbage bag.
My softpack sticks to the bathtub ledge like slingshot hands from coin dispenser toys at the supermarket.
Fuzz on the sound byte, an umbrella in the toolbox, the nightmare of vitrine after vitrine.
I put a sequin on my cap for every time I feel like a sham.
The leaf just won’t flush.
Scrubbing goes on and on, then it ends.
We inverse the mmmmmm sound in the audience.
Destroy your professionalism, I declare while lecturing on the CV.
Amanda likes sprouts because they are like pubes.
The conversation piece falls off the table.
A butch cuts my hair for the first time.
The person I photographed weeks ago walks by me again on the street.