Boats
On a bed of film clippings Molly and I stayed awake the night through.
“Your alarm clock chirps red,” she said in the morning. “Will you and R— play pickup sticks over her knees?”
“Her knees with the plantation heat? Her knees like the oiled brass? Her knees like the decay and roseoil? And closed eyes?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
