coaxed raze he sits beside me, talking with you through an ancient monaural radio. i can almost see you smile. he mentions three thematically linked podcasts he listens to and claims he leaves each sitting with a new understanding of what it is to live. i want to press him for more details. i don't dare. i made love to you in layers. earlier. elsewhere. now i'm a ghost in my own home. i settle for a list of key lines. this way i'll know what to look for later. he only acknowledges me when he gets up to leave. i tell him it wasn't as painful as i thought it would be. our sharing space and all. he disagrees. says his stomach was a knot the whole time he was here. says he still feels like he's going to throw up. he climbs onto a bicycle built in such a way that an accident is almost sure to happen. i ask if he'd like me to call him a cab instead. he turns me down and wobbles away, kicking against bracket spindles and warped wheels that have no desire to do his bidding. inside another house, you're calling to ask what kind of meat i'd like on the sandwich you're making me. your voice isn't just in my ear. it moves through a loudspeaker in the other room, the harshness of the cone turning whispers to wails. the louder you are, the harder it is to hear you. outside, you prepare a table. there's no food. it isn't a place to eat. it's a workstation where words are stitched together and pulled apart. i think of how he and i never locked eyes. not once. then it comes to me like a curse: i haven't washed my face all day. there's no point now. what i want to scrub out won't be coaxed into leaving. 230419 what's it to you? who go blather from