[6 prose pieces]
You are right, that is the scent of pine emanating from by breath. I’m sorry if it is persistent, if it addles the sides of your skull—I cannot help but decline with a crooked finger. I hope it does not interfere with our mating interests.
A foot is a solid piece of furniture.
In contemporary middle ———–, one was either a lunatic, or a modestly sized pole.
The beaches of ——— do not forbid dog walking.
Do not approach me as you would a palisade, or Abraham.
I have mountains in my ankles. I carry an anvil in my chest. When I have thoughts they come as bars of lead. Can I walk towards you in such a manner. With the architecture of cathedrals. A citadel in my back. I live alone in my own body. Zeppelins will flow from my mouth and then what. I know there are probably better things to be doing like lying down or rolling into the side of an ocean. A squat. Too often do I feel the gentle curve of a hammer. There it is, again, someone mistaking me for a building, a tower. A block of marble or soapstone to be gnawed into something beautiful.