suburban truths
in the house to the right of mine house the husband’s face is maggotpale and his fingers are his vehicle. he’s 35 and balding and prefers to move by modem or facsimile. last month he accepted the divorce by tapping enter, his wife with two children because he refused them. her left tit points at nine her right one, six. in the house to the left of mine house the woman pricks herself for sugar. she onced hitchhiked with a python for a necklace and now nurses the insane. the husband used to bring us eggs. in the hilltop house behind mine house, a woman lives divorced alone. she gave me cummings and a chair to strip, i to her four bags of sawdust and a climb up her balcony. two houses to mine right the man’s fist is shaped like the contour of his wife’s face. insults linger in the schoolyard, and echo towards mine house. she sunbathes in the driveway, though they’ve a backyard. i have thumbed the logic of this. they’ve erected a fence around the doberman, it circles, and circles, but never lies down.
