“A Fond Farewell to My Robot Friend”
I’m trying to figure out how to word this without sounding ridiculous.
Our entire friendship has revolved around the fact that I am your creator. You are my Adam, although you unfortunately lack the necessary ribs for me to create a feminine counterpart for you. And — yes, I admit — the reason why we’re so close is because we have seen each other practically every day for the last year. Even if you are more machine than man, you were a confidant when I needed you most, and for that I will always be grateful. Continue reading
The end of the world is never as bad as you’d think it would be.
Take Robert, for instance. He still has his library, and his lover, Tom, is still alive. His mother, Amanda, however, is dead.
It could have been worse, and it could have been better; Robert is satisfied with this justice.
He reads a dictionary while Tom solves a crossword. Continue reading
And they thank Me as they go down,
Singing watercolor soliloquies into my Stomach.
I’m Going Home, I hear them say,
We’re Going Home.
Do you ever find yourself spacing out at a wall — staring at the bricks until they don’t look even anymore?
Count the words per line.
Room is perfect square.
I think the room is a perfect cube.
I walked the walls to check. Twenty steps.
Window is perfect square.
One step by one. It is on the ceiling. Continue reading
In the darkness, the rain washed away Shayaa’s features until he was smooth. The water eroded the tip of his nose, sanded down his cheekbones. Each droplet popped a blackhead with pinpoint precision and pounded his Adam’s apple until it turned concave. His thick eyebrows slid off and gathered in pools on either side of his brown head. Nappy curls disintegrated in the hiss of the rainfall. His eyeballs melted and his eyelids collapsed into the empty sockets. When the water droplets slid smoothly, with no crevices to collect in, the papier-mache sculpture of his skull was almost the only thing that was left — that, and his full, dirt brown lips. Continue reading