Art so passively pastel, it was a complementary depression just to sit down and stare at the walls. Couches, tables, chairs, a magazine rack, and one rabid human gnarling nips of hostility at the shaky edges of my periphery. His street wrapped around my throat, my tongue.
I reached inside his enmeshed brain of paranoia and lobotomized that fisted gray. Tired of all the bad-vibing blunt egos unchaining their piss-sharp layers of poison and pomp; a shower of shrugs and scars. Why had I stopped breathing?
His words dripped out assaults: ‘bitch’ ‘skin and shuck’ ‘you leaking pretty.’ ‘some kind of lonely batter.’
I slammed the sky around him. Ripped the tattoos off his sweaty neck. He fumbled with language; dropped his head in his hands. It’s was a standoff of shrapnel. We were two blooming abstracts.
One coffee table between us.
Meg Tuite is author of a novel-in-stories, Domestic Apparition, a short story collection, Bound By Blue, and won the Twin Antlers Collaborative Poetry award for her poetry collection, Bare Bulbs Swinging, as well as five chapbooks of short fiction, flash, and poetic prose. She teaches at Santa Fe Community College, is a senior editor at Connotation Press, an associate editor at Narrative Magazine, fiction editor here at Bending Genres Journal, and editor of eight anthologies. Her work has been published in numerous literary magazines, over fifteen anthologies, nominated nine times for the Pushcart Prize, five-time Glimmer Train finalist, placed 3rd in Bristol Prize, and Gertrude Stein award finalist. Her blog: http://megtuite.com.