A Barker

The Hands

The ticking

The counting

The noise

Ringing in my ears

A swirl of numbers and lines

The images stuck in my head

All the while a man yelling for me to fall asleep

Then silence

Silence that was so deafening in my head as I saw myself float

Then nothing

Nothing but hands

The feeling of hands

Long and thin hands

Using my skin as if it were drums

The light shining in my face and the eyes that looked through my eyes instead of into them

Then the ticking

The counting

The ringing in my ears

Louder than the silence

And just like before

Time lost

Time forgotten

The Way We Die

My lovers

Both many and few

They’ll all die

Die fearful and stunned

It’s how we all go

They’ll kill us

No one’ll care

We’ll get over it

They kill us

No one cares

We get over it

They killed us

No one cared

We got over it

We cared

We moved on


And again

We move on

The strong and the trampled

With footprints on our faces

And glass beneath our feet

It’s hard to walk with glass beneath your feet

It’s hard to walk at all

No one sees

They don’t want to see

Maybe if they look away they won’t see us

We won’t be there anymore

Trying to rewrite physics because they hate and it’s easier

The ones that leave me because of the others

The ones that hurt me because of them

But it’s just the way we die

They kill us

No one cares

We get over it


The Korean Room


Paper is made from wood

Cut and compressed so much that it’s original amber is has been bled out

I sit in a room made of wood and paper and nothing else

Made of wood

And nothing else

But from that wood such intricate carvings spring to life

The sculptures of birds on the ceiling seemingly attached, but in reality are carved from it

The wooden desks stick out more than anything else


They too are made of wood

A deep menacing mahogany

Darkly colored and minimalistic in shape

Thus is the Korean Heritage Room on the third floor of Cathy.


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