threadbare raze i put the stalk of celery back where it belongs and stand in line until it's my turn to pay. my pockets empty. nothing in my hands. you keep backing into me. i lean as hard as i can against the sharpest part of your right shoulder. to let you know i won't be moved. you grow_younger when you turn to face me. i didn't know who you were before. i know you now. you ask me how i am. i tell you i've been better. you say you hear the same threadbare tones that play on a loop in my head every day. they're coming to us from ottawa. what's killing me lives somewhere i've never been. that's how far sound can travel. your face falls. you've lost an earring. the carpet is pockmarked with so many things that have fallen and been forgotten. i find a stud with a small green stone. you guide it through the hole in your left lobe. it doesn't fit. my fingers fish a few dozen baubles and thumbtacks off the floor. i dump them on the counter for you to sort through. you won't look at me. i bite into a chocolate-covered cherry. the second of four. in the dark heart of a vehicle that isn't mine, the radio gives me this to file away: "smart as i seem, that truly is not the case with you, my dear." it could be you singing to me. it could be anyone i've loved enough to dream about but not enough to take a chance on. 240311 what's it to you? who go blather from