Category Archives: stops
[response to “Trimming Hairs”]
In This City,
assemblage of mobiles
is preferable to the hunt, though both
pursuits are fragile like slowly shaking
air. Leave it to Kevin Samuel Herbert
Maxwell–and other inter-net hawkers
promising a new kind of sport–to air
out numb animal innards with straightened
revolvers, shouting, “Sorry, this is a
Test.” That’s that city. Here, we revolve time
spending: down by the station I showed off,
I said voici une autre marguerite
and plucked the inattentive florists’ smallest
Unit; had to stop from grabbing the whole
bouquet; had to stop from showing off, though
the air’s quivers turned to undulations
and baby-soft palm to wallet leather.
[read the response: “My old Russian Carpet”]
[response to “Three hunting stumps…”]
Though I troll this house
all your garble is untenable.
You stand inside over my
shoulder and look down
with the bad form. The drag
should stop digging and
do I. Three times is much
too messy. Everything is
telling you where I am in
You never listened so
stuck inside the wires.
The form is folded but not
like a garble like a sandwich.
Swear on this apparatus
you won’t try to stand there
[read the response: “Staring into mirrors that aren’t…”]
[response to “Terminal things”]
Alex cut himself on a piece of glass. His mother went to go get a piece of cloth to stop the bleeding, but Alex noticed that the drops of blood, which were quickly becoming huge blotches on the carpet, were doing something interesting. They became spiny little metal pellets and burrowed. He shook his hand, not like a handshake, but how you wring out a towel when you want there to be less liquid. More blood spurted out, only this time it became a pink powder and made the room very dusty. He felt slightly faint. It would make more sense if he knew where the glass came from or what it had touched. But it had run off. It was probably in his kneecap or his father’s study.
[read the response: “Shatter Stain Glass (demo)”]