Art

Us Two

No two people

confined

minds undefined

or, imbibed?

can share the same truth.

For you, it may be the moving bonsai

bristled ferns alive with the wind’s rough smack.

For me, I see a shackled tortoise

webbed steps barely alive

under the carriage of her own back.

We scuttle

We scuttle

We scuttle about

Don’t we?

Don’t we?

Don’t we?

Marry me? Marry me?

avowed lies

or

or

or,

the turtle’s wet

old eye.

Where is the vow of starting over, of freckled refractions,

of second chances? Where is the dance

that begins again

undone–

–one step, two

How,

How will I survive without you?

–one step,

to you.

Could it be we both carry one real part of reality?

–one step,

two

Wasn’t it just us two?

Could it be all me

all me

all me

the schmuck stuck

good-for-nothing

amuck. What about us?

mucked-up

–fuck.

No–

esaelp

No–

never again us?

Could it be

us just struck

no good luck?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Or, is it the us

n.ever meant to yrramy

tough gray-green skins

y? rusted. t.rusted.

both of us amuck

just an array

of once shelled rust

wring? the, rings cracking, wracking

my love.

her.call

recalls

the us yet

recall caller

call.her? her.call

–recalls

the us

as yet

unsaid

as yet

undead

I. Phones. I?

Do? Do I forget?

Try me again?

Maybe I’ll tell you then.

Again, try me?

Then, I’ll tell you maybe.

Try me again?

Maybe I’ll tell you then.

OVER OVER OVER

should we add back

the (L)

my dear,

my jeffrey,

my L.OVER?

For what is a home that belongs to us alone?

-EJK

Photographer: Jeff Musolino
Stylist & On-set Direction: Jean Keating
Model: Rebecca Lockwood

Novel Excerpt (We Sold The Babies)

If you travel enough, everywhere is the same. Same flat roads. Same round sky. Same hunger. People on wheels trading stories in the street. 

She was in Spain on a mountain looking at a sickly ocean 

planning her suicide. 

But she had forgotten she was in Spain.

Berlin was yesterday. 

On the flight, clouds like a crescendo of whipping cream, 

the sun, flecks of lemon curd from her favorite restaurant in Paris, 

everything a replica of what God’s made. 

Before Berlin she was in Iceland.

The places merged – one chronic color: 

Blue ocean. Blue sky. Blue drink. Blue triangle shoes with G U C C I  

hand-sewn into the lining by a child 

no one cares about in Bangladesh. 

Do you care about the child? Really? 

What about that Gap t-shirt hanging in your closet? Oh? A gift? Well then. 

But she couldn’t remember why she had come to Spain. 

It had something to do with The Glay Company

She thinks it was about numbers

it was always about numbers

even though she thought 

the point of having so many of them

was to be free  

but she’d forgotten 

what free

was 4.

Flash Fiction

by

EJK

This is an excerpt from my flash fiction novel.