bank raze i feel fingers on my forearm while i'm waiting for a teller to talk to me. it's you. i was just thinking about you yesterday. and here you are. something about your face isn't right. it looks washed out. like a hologram that hasn't had time enough to settle into the realm of the real. you smile and ask me how i've been. not great, i say. but i'm still standing. i ask you the same question. you tell me it's been a struggle for you too. you've been thinking about birth and the way our bodies rid themselves of the fuel we consume to keep them fed and afloat. your parting advice is to steer my love far from my grandmother's house. both the women who made the people who made me are guts and gristle in the ground. you pay your bills and leave. i transfer money from one account to another. nothing but numbers in a box that won't hold me when i'm gone. 260511 what's it to you? who go blather from