All posts by Sophie Weiner

Blockhead

When the TV arrived the Directors portended no blinking. Still, I am trying to shut my eyes— unhook the little sinewed hooks— The nose pressed to the cornea’s dream, all Technicolor, is ingrown. The head sticks— The wires are fixed, are done / me in-

Fractions and Finer Things

Absence is the finest thing— subtracting — one from one — makes a sum without a witness. If it isn’t in the equation it was never in the room. Implied when it is built in. The empty chair denoting gone, the table goning still —