Complications

when I started here my wife gave me a white gold chronograph from her jewelry store in the mall like all successful salesmen here wear it weighed my left hand down, silver and crystal reflections constantly tugging at my attentions I left it for this softer, flatter one, yes, yes weeks ago the batteries stopped …

Missing Connections

sipping rosé beneath my rudderless patio umbrella the recently divorced mother of two is so fucking livid by carpools, elevators, and skinny jeans packed with stage actors longing to buy her rosé.

Unwanted Tomorrow

Traffic lights count down to car horns complaining over the smallest delay. Miles of rope protect the greenness of the park’s grass from leaving on skinned knees. Fountains are emptied of water, of pennies, of hopes, of delight. The children are in a darkened museum, next to extinct birds and mammals, tapping unresponsive touch screens.