the heavy musk of masochism

I busted my ass for $20 a week squeezing cellophane dreams out of jugular veins. Flowers hung from sad, limp stems in the raspy hallway of my apartment. My life felt like a screaming frenzy of nothingness. I began panicking, deteriorating, gnashing my teeth late into the night. And then one Sunday morning, as the churning sun beat down on my ingrown toenail, the antidote appeared wearing a silk suit.

The lion no longer chews upon my heart.


cliff weber (Santa Monica, CA, 1986)