Lightning Strikes the Dressing Room
May 6, 2019Poetry by Michael Morell
Imagine buying a bottle of beer and dumping half out. It makes me shudder.
Imagine buying a bottle of beer and dumping half out. It makes me shudder.
Marisol informs me that I stop breathing during sleep.
Pleasure does not read the paper or anyone's tweets.
I watched each day, until everything, save for one tall building in the middle of the block with doctors’ offices on the first floor, was rubble and dust.
The first days after you died sunk like stones.
We yawned, slapped at flies, already unmoved by the pageantries of masculinity.
Then the interrogation began. He described “vicious verbal violence,” with his interrogators screaming, swearing at him, 'You don’t preach Christianity, you preach shit.'