home | | | | | |archive | | | | | |profile | | | | | |notes | | | | | |previous | | | | | |next

sunday morning liquor store

I age quietly behind the veil of years. I listen to church music and wait for the liquor store to open. I hold my pale hands up to the sun and wish for some sort of cleansing. The trees are green and patient. My father's voice is stuck in a endless loop of wind. I maintain a private sense of loss, desperation, and disappointment in an abandoned landscape of warehouses, loading docks, and broken train tracks. I die quietly behind the bowling alley, fantasies of an Asian woman laughing with her bare foot cradled like a phone under my jaw.

previous | next