endless summer – Madi Bean


Like a fly lolled into a cup of water
It’s an ancient and delicate process
Amy and Iwai were spending multiple days
in the cluttered bedroom of her childhood brownstone
she was now renting.
I patted the hyacinth, iridescent from heat treatment,
ran my fingers through the astro turf while Baby told me everything.

Everyone’s eyes were getting bigger
The park had a certain miasma that let the eye release
a drop of liquid as if riveted by the blunt force trauma
Of milk down your throat
Feet pulled along the pavement like bags of sand. I wanted to call you when I got home to explain. Walking from room to room, running my fingers against our walls and leaving a trail of dye from the grass i’d touched

Amy and Iwai split the cost of option B and were caught having polite conversation on the rock Baby had shown the both of them on separate occasions at different times of day.
Either the semiotics moved you
Or you were afraid that they were listening
You went on like your mouth was made entirely of veins

I’d like to find some space where we can speak without leaving footprints
You showed me a dead body on the train tracks near your house
You showed me you had already cried all night
I told you everyone is actually really happy about their bulging eyes
Because it was proof that things could change
You close them, feel the sclera touch the thistledown leather on the lid
Swallow without breathing, imagine yourself standing in a room with three walls
A chair takes form in the corner. Take a seat.



I’m calling because the paper bag I was using to carry home all the food I’d been hoarding from my job broke in the middle of the street last night on my way to Harmony sex shop. I worked the clopen, then closed. Got drunk before I left, texted one of the servers goodnight and something brief, sweet, fleeting, what Camille Paglia was saying to me on the train that morning about vagina dentata. He told me in turn that he was schizophrenic and to read up on metaphysics. He told me that all the other servers at my job were upset with me but that he would do his best to fix it. There’s always a geriatric millennial within ten blocks that cld fix everything. There’s always a guy in a white button up with an apron ready for war. He told me that practicing Santeria had saved him when he was 16 and asked me how old I was before sending me his tips from that week through zelle.
He told me something about animal magnetism but I forgot the sentiment. He told me about my life back home. Back home I was a girl, my father was an ex-con who never told me anything. Nobody ever told my mother she couldn’t keep a secret. My brother and I went to a Tool concert and watched a man have a seizure. He asked me what we’d do with the house after dad had told us what he’d done to his life. We left the venue and drove home. There were objects in his car that meant something profound. A girl in a grass skirt with a pink and white hibiscus patterned bra. A folded necklace made of plastic beads hung from the mirror. He hid Newports from my sister in law in the center console. Notifications from our estranged uncle’s twitter imposed in front of the default earth screensaver on his phone.
My dad was asleep at home, there was a half empty bottle of maker’s mark on the counter. Back home I told you these things while we swam in the reservoir. You had gimlet eyes to me, and thinking this made mine dart to other things around us like the water wading against my hands and solar plexus harder than other places. The air browsed my face like a mosquito. I told you these things because I couldn’t tell my dad what I knew. And because I couldn’t figure out why when I needed to say something he was always in more pain and much smarter than me. You can’t let things like nostalgia or water stop you. You can’t let things like an ex boyfriend or your father end an endless summer.
I really went to harmony to throw them off my trail, but needed to stretch the money for important things like the turnstile at myrtle-willoughby, and not a lace bikini, even if it was an investment. Btw I’m celibate.
Btw you may have to save me from them if we’re going to continue seeing each other
Btw I’m your wife, Madi. You’ve been in a coma for 10 years, please wake up, I think you’re the sweetest guy in the world.
Wake up, our son just wrote the next great American novel.
Wake up we have a tradcath thot daughter.
Wake up I am the tradcath thot daughter
Wake up I’ve not come to bring peace but a sword
Wake up I would never hurt you, I love you.
Wake up the demons are multiplying like cancer cells, would it kill you to know I have to die in this life too?
Wake up the server asked for my eggs if I never end up having a family of my own—but my womb is evil and I already did that with you.
Wake up my womb is one of four horsemen
Wake up the other ones are using my bathroom
Wake up the other horsemen are complaining that the medicine cabinet is unhinged from the wall in there
There’s a list of things I need you to make better like the hinges to all my cabinets and things that swing, my wounds, etc., etc.
Wake up before my wounds get bigger and drape down to my feet
Wake up before the west falls at my feet and there’s no land left for you to fortify
Wake up before I wage my life in a game of chess with the high council and have to apologize for everything I’ve done. They grant me a ticket to Second Realm because after all was said and done I was sorry and meant it on main, and also, I was kind to small and sinless creatures like you in a past life.
In Second Realm, no one knows your name. it’s clean, and crisp, and love is there
The love your parents cld never give you
The love you couldn’t find here, in your skin covered by a dirt film from debris you picked up hiding behind the dumpster. It sometimes melts away like chocolate into the bottom of a plastic egg while you cling idly to the ceiling. In Second Realm it doesn’t exist, almost nothing does
and it’s different, but there’s beauty in every time.




I want to hold you so tight we both wake up screaming.
And i say i’m alright now
but i’m actually a strong young man covered in scars,
scaling over
being disrobed by my wealthy older benefactor in a room with a single fan

I’ve been having dreams about my hands being amputated
and letting the cold congealed tendons
snap like jello and slip down like threads onto our cement floor.
You sometimes reappear to help me look for my ligaments

It sometimes happens like this:
That night when you called
because you were overdosing
on shrooms and I had just
bleached my eyebrows
with the lesbian that broke me

I drove into the mountains to save you
and stopped when I reached the driveway
with two towering nutcracker shaped idols on either side
I passed the chicken coop. Corralled horses and cows swayed softly in the light of my high beams without smiles on their faces

The secret to my happiness is i’ve never made a decision in my life
But nothing will happen until I shut up and shove my tail in my mouth

I stopped at the yurt and walked 100 paces north. You were wearing a denim jacket with feathers on the sleeves crunched down, and stood up slow.

I asked
“Where are we”

You said
“Why does everyone think i’m trying to lure them into some trap?”

You threw up outside of my car.
I got out and saw my reflection in the windshield
revealing all the holes I hide behind my face
They were expanding

time was of the essence

time was circular

I thought to close them before the pitiless signifier reached an event horizon
And the cracked shards of memory disappeared
enveloped by my skin

You told me you didn’t need me and I listened

I drove home and undressed myself. Covered all the mirrors with felt lined sheets

I lay still and stretched my arms in the same position
as the hag who hovers above me while I sleep, I told her
I needed to break the curse
and that this time she needed to come down from up there
sit on my bed
and talk