December 12, 2014

“I don’t know what she does with the lines after. Maybe she stirs them into her spaghetti marinara. Maybe she uses them to string the harp she’s been slowly constructing in the diner’s basement. It’s for the organ choir. Every instrument is constructed from bone, skin, or sinew. The harp’s frame might be a cow’s rib cage and the many chords are built from her torn vessels. Maybe the use of her arteries are born from a failed experiment with bovine ligature. The lines kept snapping. She couldn’t keep them connected to the frame. She did her best but her best failed and now, when she strums the notes into existence, she listens to herself.”

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