HARLAN WRIGHT BOXED

Four-walled, locked-in, whirlwind tongues whip under doors and windows. Easy enough, looking through irises floating against a hallway’s current or fencer-posed, chest-pressed squeezed through limbs: inorganic contact the buzzing and thumping soles of your feet.

Briefest glance dance murmured hellos across barely turned lips, if you know them well enough. Atrophied tendons lengthwise neck-wise, tugging (garrotting) words; even if it’s her: rather finish, walk her to the door and not say much more.

Crumple inwards along pre-set failure seams; drink, and maybe people laugh or people laugh in morning memories in different ways. Cubist mirror maze; but not even that can drag me out of here. PHOTOGRAPH, 2151.