A room walled-in by books where the hours withdraw. At the foot of an unmade bed a bird of paradise. Motel carpet melted where an iron had been. His attention anchored to a late night glory hole. Of janitorial carts no heaviness like theirs. Desire seen cavorting with the yes inside the no. A soul kiss swimming solo in an open wound. The self as church where the whores now gather in.
First published in Volt. Copyright © 1999 by Timothy Liu. Reprinted by permission of the author. All rights reserved.