Saturday, February 8, 2020


Photo: Geert Hermsen
The people before us were French doors— she wore her hair alfresco; his bon mots were rococo. There was so much room in the sky's loosely- translated word for all-time that the way our phonemes fit together after all, like the last puzzle pieces stung like an insult. Did the sky blush to bloom, a parasol in a fruit- drenched cocktail at the way we took luster and let her linger a holy wafer dissolving into after— our tongues hummed. How we longed for italics, ellipses, anything to expunge the blandness of texture the pure falsity of sand begetting glass begetting windows to the dollhouse of transparent
love which is
such a perfect container it imprisons us.

—Dan Smart + Reka Jellema, February 8, 2020