paper crane

If I begin any day with a pronoun, a foot slips off a barstool crossbar and, because the bar is a bar and not a foot stalking mecca, the consequence is minimal. At best. No one mispronounces shorthand. No one forgets their drink with its soggy napkin in miniature. In short, the show is decent. No one leaves misunderstood.

If I say I and you begin to doubt me. I’ll go back to the bar and bring a footstool. I’ll go back to the crossbars and what could. There will be mirrors there and you will think you are shrinking: 1 foot, another foot.

Gin and tonic and soda water. Brown eye blinking. (You begin to disappear.) Good.



~



This is not about the gender of soda water. (People kill for that shit.) This is about origami. The gender of soda water is simple: it’s lampshade. It’s irretrievable. It is your body, folded like a pillow behind me. The lock broken and the dog goes on sleeping.

I I (and I notice)
I’m unattached.