River: The North Tonawanda horses and reupholstered tails out over the Grand and its mid day lights; slivers of body arranged with audio and still discernable hair and my girl in the ill-fitting hat saying “each room keeps being real” with an edge of disgust or pity and the rhinestones and moulds with price tags and spin; kid with “I have a dream” sticker peeling on her shirt; chunks of ice in the river. Relentless Midwest riverside lights.
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River: Two women in a canoe, paddle clacking fiberglass, clacking water, a strange tongue, neat green & rowed garden. The word is stale, has been read in a book, found in the mail or picked off a grimy beach. He doesn’t taste it, just spits it out for the ladies on the bus. Fat man is trying to sell me something, has his fingers digging in my pockets, thighs.
