Boxes in the trunk of the Toyota Corolla Azure her mother sold when they got to the city. Their neighbor played “Purple Rain” every morning. Blue stripes on the city bus. Blue Man Group in Union Square. Public school, plastic chairs. First test. “Sorry kid,” when Natasha’s teacher handed her a blue pen.
I love referring to my surgery as a boob job because it makes people do a double-take. I see them recalibrate, “What kind of gay are you? Where are you coming from and where are you going?”
Ms. Zeller told us, “if you scrunch all your fingers and toes and hold it for about ten seconds and then release, that’s kind of what an orgasm feels like.” Glancing down I saw twenty pairs of feet, all wearing the same green knee high socks and black shoes, lift slightly off the floor as we all clenched our toes.
The phrase “particularly in these times” stands out to me.
Driving gingerly driving motherly.
It is summer and all my friends are dying.
I was 15 in North Myrtle Beach,
skateboarding towards 420 World
under the stale haze of old billboards and tattered confederate flags. Big Mike worked there,
and it’s where the porn was.
When a people are made into numbers, by nature, they become divisible. By design, subtractable.
click to enlarge This pastel and watercolor work was created in response to the death of George Floyd followed by Black Lives Matter strikes and looting in New York City at the time.
Because in the dim parking lot
one man’s sobriety was a flower for his truths;
because Max’s hair in the rain.
