| when all else fails, theres still eviction. i've nurtured pyrex sculptures in my kitchen sink for six weeks. i'm accustomed to the reek. the towers feed a family of black opossums. they eat flaking pastes, blossoming spunges of mould. somewhere gapes a window i just can't find. the critters and the cold smuggle eachother in. take turns making the structure creak and pop. bump in the night. i pretend i own my very own pet shop. tri-toed paw museum in layers across my linoleum. i've learned the language of beasts, and i know the hiss from the vowel. i hear volumes in a howl. ahh: i sense an avian tiff --bird wings explode at the rafters. i tisk, but i'm proud, sitting in the constant draft. |