The Dead Eat Everything

Thaumaturgy

54 t h a U M a t U r g y rarely happens in the suburbs. it’s all sunburns and shrubbery, there. i’ve never climbed a tree and thought, Wow. i’ve never seen the ocean, but i have stood on a bloodstain shaped like a wave and thought about how small we are, how whatever washes you can be a big emptiness you get lost in, and i stood there every day for a year for the repetition of it, like a novena. The city bus repeats itself. The breakbeat in my head repeats itself, and maybe this is how déjà vu works, and maybe i’d rather remember some things that never really happened, like the time i danced so well i raised the dead, my old dog or dad, i think, i think it was in Baba’s house, i think the record kept skipping in a perfect loop. ...