In a Lonely Place

In avoiding knowledge of what he’s saying into her ear by writing about everything around it, allowing myself distractions, am I avoiding the most important message I’m meant to hear? Or am I eliminating hiding places, assimilating every peripheral element…

The lines on the silk of her dress now flow towards Bogie. You are what you wear.

His smoke has formed the letters “An”, and into her ear he speaks, “…Anthology of a thousand and one champagne bottles emptied in succession into a b….” Our words come from places we rarely glimpse and never truly understand.⠀

Sometimes two hands become murky sea creatures in the depths of the two gin and tonics set before them, one a dark, spreading sea blob, the other a disembodied sea finger using a lemon as a hat. These are facts.

Today I notice that his shirt has bunched into a long, thin leg, toes perhaps wiggling down around his belly button. I’d like to be able to tell you what that means in the grand scheme of things, to make…

Watched cars burning in the streets yesterday. I understood the violence, but it seemed like an anachronism, footage from the ‘60s. Today I came back here to the Lonely Place, stared into the smoke and the shadows, and realized that…