Styrofoam Curfew – Angela Weiss

The drain flies, their unrepentant trysts… Their bleached eyes, planets of grotesquely tessellated mirrors gone opaque then black inset, along with them, their uric phantasms, once simple and picturesque

Those daffodils diffracted, linger, while summer tries to cop a feel – venal limpland in the tile, the tibia trees crawling with brack – its favoring of first abrasions and the cautious, persistent mew of decomposition sparking in the pregnable cathode

Surveying, the undifferentiated plasticine metonym Mr. Big Useless is a songbird made of bile, with a thousand taunts beneath his breast and dragging his battered payphones unmoored to some horrible sopping cataclysm

There is a version of this place where license plates are used as tombstones and daybreak perforates the wading wastewater with unseemly deliverance. Those of us who have seen the sun can corroborate – you punch in, you punch out

We are dull razors oxidizing in these profuse lamentations