standing on stage with your skirt up over your head. they approach, wielding sharpies: flabby, they write. cut this. question mark. the click of a camera shutter.
all talk, no show. all show, no tell. on your knees in the confession booth, whispering murder.
the child forced to eat the spinach. she gags, presses her lips together. she’ll never forgive.
dropping a dozen eggs into a bowl. fishing the shards of shell out with a finger.
a blind homeless woman groping for dinner in a garbage can.
whittling your big toe into a bust of beethoven.
the lover who calls you a moron, who pawns your stereo for a fix and flirts with your friends. the one who’s really good in bed.
an opera singer yowling at the bottom of an empty wine barrel.
pouring blood into a tape recorder. pushing “play” to hear a long, yawning uuuuuuummm.
stuffing a pregnant teenager inside an old lady: deep fry and sprinkle with powdered sugar.
masturbating with a spork. an eggbeater. a handful of pennies. a glue stick.
the secret locket full of poison you keep tucked between your breasts. the pit bull clamped to your ankle. the husky siren that wakes you up in darkness. sleeping with leeches. sucking your thumb. teaching snails to fly.
what is writing, for you?