inflamed frame


Amir Or
You put on your gorgeous
fornicating body
wear it like a tiger
wears its pounce.

I dig in your wound
toward the capsule of morphine
splash in the gorgeous plague
squirt meta-pain sparks

into the inflamed frame,
bounce from trampoline of skies
taut to the limit–
a last rain
definitely last.
a long shot
roams the nebulas of flesh;

now it is permissible
to fold the skies
break the frame

edit memories

Like a tiger its pounce
I take off your gorgeous
fornicating body.

being useful shortly


“Someone had once said to him, It’s hard to be sad when you’re being useful. And he liked that idea. That service to others brought happiness. It was self-involvement that led to depression, to spiraling questions about the meaning of things.”Before the Fall, Noah Hawley

As he streamed into my life, I recognized shortness. Shortness of breath, as in having breath being taken away. Shortness of time, as in how did we not find our way here sooner. Shortness of distance, as in needing to reduce the space, literal and figurative, between where we found ourselves. Shortness of blissful moments, as in the longer and more frequent darkness that crept in on the back of insularity.

But even if only in short bursts, freeing ourselves from our selves and from each other, we could find our uses and usefulness; we could find our meaning and ephemeral completion in the world.