published in Volume 2, Issue 4 on July 27, 1995
Fingers spread, gripping the cold hips heavy on the plaster, head down eyes clenched like fists, teeth showing in a threat-grin, smiling at the floor. The phone's ringing. Who is it? I-don't-know-they-hung-up. They'll find me in a fetal rictus being born and protesting all along a hydrogen bond is my only lover to keep me flesh, agony, hips to floor. The phone's ringing. Who is it? I-don't-know-they-hung-up. Now if it was a noise or something, a gun or howl something they could examine something they could pronounce incorrect instead of this mosaic insanity The phone's ringing. Never mind instead of this mosaic insanity they could fix me but I hear there's no cure for this. I hear it makes your spine shrivel I hear it makes your eyes turn colors I hear it sets you in cancer for life. Maybe if I freeze carefully maybe if I make it a magic ceremony maybe if I break without bothering anybody No time like the present, no shrine like a carpet Fingers digging through the weave Eyes sealed and streaming Face burrowed in the maelstrom smiling at the floor.