no. 25


Julie Carr

In October of 1973 a rough rug and a wooden wheel.  In April of 1988 the telephone fixed to the wall.  A barrier is constructed between the voice of the man and my ear.  Such that his face becomes aesthetic or perhaps prosthetic.  Laundromats are erotic and so I frequent them alone.  Plastic seats take on the same meaning as the foam at lakeshore.  In over half of all cases, a rogue girl will widen the avenue by walking it.  In perilous tinny journeys she fails to locate her room.  A bare cheek sutured by the cold and some meat on the stair.  Now her mouth's intricate movement accuses us of the cowardice we all share.

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