ashley dunn

The Discursive Revulsion of the Moody

House plants, Twin Peaks,
nodding with squints at God knows

what to fill God knows who: they aren’t working
anymore, are they, as you

flick over from repeat channels to the news. And when you scroll
down there instead? There’s no climax, depth,

point to what is sprayed at you on this side either
as the veil lifts due to the death in the family. And so now

there’s a funeral! But that uncle was always a bit creepy?
Did you even really like

those plants? As you search around the room
for days to find the remote: it wasn’t so

surreal after all, was it. Were you ever any better than choosing sides here?
What were they saying before they entered?


The line breaks and hanging line indents may be incorrectly formatted because I cannot be bothered to fiddle with the HTML. View the correct formatting in the full collection Juveni… Doesn’t Matter (The Grey-Salmon Book) (and subscribe at the top of the page).

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