Jon Riccio
The Follow-Up
A television Post-it noted in scenarios: My neighbor the crime scene cleaner plays Janet Jackson’s “Escapade” because somewhere it’s 1989 and criminals know to bludgeon inside the lines. The military pilot’s Camaro – Texas license, eggplant shade. Boots lacing the sound of speed. A debutante’s cotillion sardonic, partygoers dressed as reparative therapy, Medusa’s hairline on the arms of a Rogaine box.
Index cards beside the colander, holes lassoing alfredo: I couldn’t have the chlorine without the claustrophobia, the embouchure without asbestos, intermission forgoing a sandbag’s hoist, the trapdoor never in doubt. They won’t reenter your already orbit, still you want the orchid in lieu of a horse.
Comparatives, tucked behind the Shop-Vac: Lonelier than stucco at an adobe sleepover. Than an art teacher subbing in a Fermium kiln. Corsage pinners at a reunion of bullion and soup.
Doubtful, the countermeasures to:
AFTER THE PAUSE VOLUME 2 ISSUE 4
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