M J I u p p a
She doesn’t worry about whether the phone will ring when she’s out of touch. Night & day: interminable silence. She picks up the town’s Herald & reads her horoscope before scanning the obituaries (comforting to know that someone believes she has a future). It’s a matter of days before August stars fall, one after another, and she’ll look up into the sky’s wide mouth, knowing it will swallow her head first, leaving her black stocking feet to wriggle & squirm & thrash about until there’s nothing left to the imagination.
And, or is it &, then