alien-eye bulges apple-like, swollen and 
pregnant with infection. smear piping hot 
towel -- release the tension -- and dream of 
distraction on this hottest day in june, in 
preparation for some sort of weekend loss of 
control. 

i pledged time to idiocy; wasted hours on bad TV; 
await the stutters and stops in conversations as 
i dredge up some semblance of reason and push 
myself down a path as a way to void the previous poison --  

body betrayal; broken hearted, i blink crooked blinks at 
a brand-new day and as stye-eye beams out wider, claims its 
own space, i broaden myself, demand attention -- slash a 
hand through the air as another attempts to interrupt me -- 

just a bug-eyed giant and god, so hungry.  

goop drains now and i articulate sizzly thoughts as the sun 
returns to its strenuous position. take pleasure in the meaninglessness. 
bemoan anything that once appeared to matter. such 
power in the nothing. blank page.   

don't finalize a single mission; wake up and cancel all plans.  
my eye gulps and staggers to the ground,  
a brave orb who has had enough of this shit and how 
can i blame it. blinks are less strenuous; i contain only half the world. i 
do not dare to dream as it crafts failure in the in-between. i take what 
i can. stale bread. bad cheese. this moment. filling. it’s enough.  

Allison Krupp is an American writer based in Berlin, Germany. Her work has appeared in The Rail. Her ghostwritten works have fallen into the amorphouse haze of many NDAs.