Olivier Brossard had been hanging men for the best part of a decade, and he'd never seen the rope break. It wasn't uncommon for folk to try, usually magicians spitting fire and brimstone as they ... [+]
feeling like a dog's
wet breakfast, I comb my hair
and dress in a cleaner
shirt. in the kitchen,
you move bottles
off the table,
careful as a bulldozer
knocking houses
in palestine. the sun lands
on the front
of the building, twisting
like the face
of a sunflower. windows
gape open around us,
bringing light
and hairbrush-dry heat.
wet breakfast, I comb my hair
and dress in a cleaner
shirt. in the kitchen,
you move bottles
off the table,
careful as a bulldozer
knocking houses
in palestine. the sun lands
on the front
of the building, twisting
like the face
of a sunflower. windows
gape open around us,
bringing light
and hairbrush-dry heat.