She slept through the earthquake in Spain. The day after was full of dead things. Well, not full but a few. Coming in the front door, she felt the crunch of a carapace under her foot. In the bathroom, a large cockroach rested on its back at the edge of the marble surround; the dead antennae
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Costumes Exchanging Glances
The rhinestone lights blink off and on. Pretend stars. I’m sick of explanations. A life is like Russell said of electricity, not a thing but the way things behave. A science of motion toward some flat surface, some heat, some cold. Some light can leave some after-image but it doesn’t last. Isn’t that what they say? That and that historical events exchange glances with nothingness.