The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a dystopia.
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Child of my body, you are from me. I gave birth to you. Yet you are from another time,another place. My mother died when I was a toddler. My father remarried and
it’s not the child
But I am the kind of man who’s abandoned his father. How easy, my tongue. Not me. Never. No. I tell myselfI am not the kind of man who’d abandon his child.
at Lake Lugano, Switzerland You sit between eachwave rocking this stone worldlike a cradle. The peaks & troughs of me,my life, delight to beholdall that you offer. When you gently close a
War exists in beautiful places.In the arms of a galaxy, symbiotic stars swallow each otherand in the shallows of a reef, a four-armed sea star spreadsover a shell like a chromosome. Scarred,
not the Titan, but my home built without a bomb shelter,and built to house bombs. Explosions—unlike implosions—happen over the course of felt moments. Skirts are blown upwardas Trinitrotoluene flushes cheeks yellow. Gravel
One empties and fills; the other trickles. Both keep me afloat.
I’m pretty sure I got the job at Midnight Express because I didn’t ask if it was illegal. I wasn’t background checked, as far as I know. I didn’t sign any non-disclosure
holding space today i try on my dad’s suits his brother’s last supper second easter in kampala shake loose memories that fall out too, by twos third proposal to my mum fourth
Casino 1.Continent of seat peoplein the salat of coming up short.Finger to the button like leaf’s dawn wave: hardly wind when the winningstill sleeps. 2. In indoor noon, they slumplike the airlifted saved in basketswho,