In this manicured room built by working class boyfriends, if I keep my clothes on, I look just like James Merrill. Right hand on my father’s checkbook and the left on my planchette. Left hand on a letter from Elizabeth. It describes animals she saw have gender, not money, not unmoney. Right hand in my cunt, pulling on wires, refining, affirming the form. Voices of dead people under my hand. It’s a scam, and they move when I move.
“Creaky Staircase” by awuzyk is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
