Stop Thinking Right to Left

Dear Jesse—

You of the cryophilic heart… You fill me with inertia.

Jesse, stop writing backwards! Stop thinking from right to left. You prepared the statues and raised the cupolas, and now the patina congeals on your soul, and your  effervescence is now effluvium. Mucho mistrust. It’s all over.

Paregoric?! It’s tincture of opium, you idiot. What have you done? Jesse, what have you done to me?

How do I manage to stay underground? Are you going to help me? I can’t arrange it. How do I get to Papua, New Guinea from here? I can’t do this alone.

This is my life. Is this your cozen to me?!

Oren.

“Art hurts. Art urges voyages—and it is easier to stay at home.”
— Gwendolyn Brooks