>Three-Quarters of an Inch

>Three-quarters of an inch of wine pasted at the bottle’s belly, patiently swindling. Soft, / chamber music macramés the walls, back of my head stuck between the hairs, drips from the ceiling. She’s somewhere / at the top of the steps, getting ready for Church. Outside the wind conspires, I see it, the sun in hawkish repose. Blood glassed and upheld.

Leave a Reply