I am a flashing alibi.
The moon is being treated for amenorrhea. Her heart is a lump of uranium. Startled, the cat jumps forth, chars his furry tail. I mouth a careless prayer.
Everything is breath.
Every breath a proposition.
The boy I fucked last Christmas called me a witch. Now Salem wears a mushroom on her crown. Read the future in the fissures of memory, I had told him. And I tell you again. Next door, men with blubber on their nape discuss half-lives. Bedrooms stink of cabbage and meat. Someone plays a mouth-organ.
At 16, I had magicked my room to ash. The window expands. My heart is a lump of uranium.
Let me tempt you into falling.