Elle Fisher / aRound and aRound

aRound and aRound

Elle Fisher

no hunger or unafraid valve-sounds can cure this: But I see a monarch-faced butterfly-man and think of applause as in, applause of two hands smacking at a hollow stage. Hear that?

Candywater runs by the wrist, from my segmented claret fruit onto some basic place. I let it drip there.

The man occupies himself with puddles licking his chipped brown teeth. Showing himself a smile against one mineral well.

–Let’s sail over there, he whispers his ear squeezed against that surface.

So I bite on another mere segment –puckered lips from its acid– When, next I see him dripping, –like a candle will drip around its wick–in an arabesque pose from his brow from his shoulders from his chest.

I see him go. There, he sails away. And left behind, I’m staring in piles at the applauding sidewalk stones.