I embrace life the way a fruit bowl does: holding things together,
existing only in-between the union of others I'll never know.

Utility is a strange thing: the big quilted covering for a stage
piano only functions in the dark, sparing bruises to its beloved.

My friend's lover touches my shoulder and I go faint with
worn-out desire, legs quivering like after a strained muscle.

Like a cartoon: there is an exaggerated posture to every movement –
fingers disappear from hands while a shadow creeps in the border.

Volume 2, Issue 1, 2007