Hypothetical Mastectomy
Stone circle, Estonian clown wants to solve a roomful of problems under Samhain's shadow. Grief wanes with Beaver moon, nibbling on wood beam to stay grounded. We live away from the earth, but this city keeps us afloat, hand-fasted. My face is falling off, not like a mask, like two days post chemical peel. Modern beauty standards, cross those Ts. Little twin stars have their own timeline, they won't bother anyone. (She and I, we live apart.) I turn down a job, but that's not my problem. I don't know how to talk to you anymore. The eventualities I fear. Falling out of language, telepathy. Worry as control, riddles and ciphers. Everything would need to fall apart to come together. Keep shirt on in bed and shower, barefoot and blistering. Trapeze walk the canyon between us, alive somewhere living messily. I have two thoughts, two beings, two truths. I am curious. What climate is your heart?



















