Monday, October 03, 2022

mmmdccxl

P.S. Much as I still love Depeche Mode, the closest
      I have ever gotten to being goth is right now.


She held out her hand for 
the skin graft. Or that’s what
Batz called it. “Time to get
branded,” he said. Everything

seemed copacetic. Another
word we overused in college.
Like anything Monty Python
or Benny Hill. Everything’s

either a matter of taste, of
opinion (ignorant or educated),
of perspective. She looks at the
wingspan between her right thumb

and forefinger now and thinks
about the gloomy affair she had
with Batz, about suicide, about Missy
Misdemeanor Elliott (a reprieve)—

the circle never quite closes around the
“X,” her own cross to bear, she thinks,
which makes her chuckle a bit. A titter
that tastes like distance. And Jägermeister.

red cloud with a little rain