Chicken: A Short Story

The auburn shoes don’t match, they just don’t, and that was the first hitch of the day. His father did say something about the shoes while he was trying them on. It wasn’t the color according to father. And yet he can’t recall exactly what it was. There was something wrong with the way they […]

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Epidermis (V)

 The body is a phantom limb. It hurts when desire should hurt. The body is the orphaned child coming back to us, tied at the end of a string we name [our love]. It comes back to us at the end of every fear. The body is the child who sleeps silently at the feet […]

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Epidermis (IV)

 The body is the prosthetic limb of our desires, an extension to our lust, the nerve endings programmed to touch and lead us into despair. The body lets you know there’s a limit to our [love]. Every touch is an ending in progress, the entropy, the heat and the cold. [Love] is a sequence of […]

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Epidermis (II)

 Our [love] is a fleeting moment, our bed is a tomb. We’re making [love] to avoid the word. In the morning I get rid of the skin that touches you during the night and make a suitcase out of it to remember the burden of that touch. During the day touch turns into whisper. We, […]

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288

the fragmented feet of music. with paws and hooves all over. you train your epidermis to listen to new rhythms. before somebody else says what is this. nothing this is just a run over the whole specter of illusion. words uttered backwards. they do sound like a strange language you do not need to be […]

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