The inscrutable bed clothes, worn in lust, telling what, in their dishabille? A word that means your hand there, or the happiness of chest-to-chest, breath groined. So ugly—groined—joined and loin and grind. The highboy leers, about to laugh. Could you, flipping on a belt, find the way past of this happy Ness, the silky monster… [Read More]

You aren’t yourself and what a good idea that is. Yourself can’t make the money tot up, one big number on top of another, but you have to. An ice cream scoop is what this totting reminds you of. Shuffling foreign money on slips and into windowed envelopes reminds your deskmate of sandwiches, especially the… [Read More]