Win the laughter prize, funny in a jean jacket, small and
sparky, whipping through the dining room with trays. A snorer
honks from across the hall. My friends are falling down,
standing up again, taking in mouthfuls of air at the cliff-edge,
retreating to their bedded caves. That’s how love experimentation
works. That’s what it is, a steady train ploughing circles through the
night. Ascend the stairs, turn the corner to the hallway, ask how it
would feel. You only have a brain, a tool that’s hard to use. Wake up
with time to sprint a semi-circle through the frontal lobe, lap it up, salt
waiting on the spoon. Desire is a collage. Long black hair, shoulders,
affection for the sound of a name. Breathe out each time a dish is placed
upon the countertop. If you catch the radiation in your net, and spill it
split between, and if you let it linger long enough to almost burst,
it will be yours, it will be yours.
NICE
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