Plunge - Alison Saparoff

sometimes it takes soaked livers and three o’clock in the mornings compulsively teeth-brushing cause Aquafresh tastes like Christmas to come to the bitterest of realizations that bite and bruise and scratch and kick...


for you, the roman candles’ll never explode and bangbangbang at the right time in the right place with the right people so instead you’re chasing Death while Death’s chasing you and you’re running after each other in foolish circles. absurdity’s suspending you on the wrong street corner cause you never finished reading Sisyphus.


and for you, the most important thing’ll always be the Devil standing on the other side of the wall.


sometimes loving you is like staring at standby color bars on black-box televisions and other times it’s like burning out Reds in my eyeballs; sometimes it’s like the feeling I get after eating way too much subpar texmex and other times it’s like spinning in nowhere-circles on the Balboa carousel while the Pacific air vanishes a bit more with each roundabout. I wonder if this is all masochism cause I find myself (not often enough) asking the question: when’s it ever good?


it’s good when your presence makes the fear vanish and not even the stupid dust bunnies, the giant bunnies--the Frank bunnies and Bunny Munros haunt anymore; it’s good when we sleep in packing-peanut-filled bathtubs in July on Jim Morrison’s death day; it’s good when you let your thoughts run unfiltered into my ears...


yet you’re stomping on cans already crushed


and sometimes you just gotta take the plunge.