The Allegory of the Email
for Sarah F
We watch eggs break—bones picked out from several others. In an empty cable, next to a wall in shadow, so many theaters of voice converge, a shade of gray brought forward. Charlotte— the customer—her heart moves slow as water edges against her. Her hair is weather patterns— a spark pulling thru. Her hours are paint, William Blake, shark penises —under the wall we sit listening slowly to paws tap glass. Below, the town withers, twines its ropey recession around & around.