flowers

The women in pencil skirts spill from towers and let down all their disarming hair. They hold caramel glasses of whiskey with sweet vermouth as men with undone cuffs speak something secretive into the felt- lined boxes of their ears. The thunder of planes is ignored, and the four o'clock...

I didn't realize until this morning that the dried fruits in my room were increasing. The pomegranate and orange on my desk are harder than stone. And now that they've lost their fragrance I'm relieved. I finger the hard rinds, I tell myself they might have gained eternal life by losing their...