by Darren Demaree
I don’t think he wants me to touch him. I’m going to touch him. I’m going to feel him, poorly. I’m to grasp and tug and pull. I’m going to ragdoll his body. I’m going to drag it casually through Zanesville, Ohio, and order a pizza for it. I’m going to buy drugs at the same pizza shop. I’m going talk to him for a long time about what it means to be preach into the mirrors of the world. I’m going to leave him in a mirror. I’m going to let him talk until he says a name other than his own. When he says my name I will put the rest of the pizza in the fridge of a stranger. I will let him keep the weed. I think he needs to get stoned on something other than our suffering.