For the first
time I see a blank, her face disappears. Nothing
exists, and thats a positive development.
happened to your head and torso? Clara asks.
dont know, probably where yours went.
Were not invisible, were non-existent.
religious? Im not, she says. Changing
subjects are clear indications of a vanishing act.
With no face, no mouth, no torso, I look down at
her legs. Im a leg man and hers were great.
Its too late for voyeurism. We could melt
out here and no one would find the remains of our
a voyeur when it comes to religion and God.
Its better to pretend than actually believe,
I say. The flaw lies not with the stars but with
dont believe in anything, she says.
But where are you, lost in the sunlight?
Wheres the rest of you?
see her pupils. I shade my head with my hand and
her body diminishes to a puddle.
tell whether I speak to myself, the abyss, or to
loathed your bodily form, I lie.
another puddle on the grass beneath the bench.
you wonder why I agreed to this non-date,
she says. It aint because shes a easy
lay, sexism has been purged completely. Sex
insubstantial selves wouldnt hold the
glands, organs and fluids needed.
you contract herpes? I say. Gagging, I
refrain from barfing. My girlfriend tricked
on the side.
herpes came from her, she says. She begins
to annoy me. Once I visited a bisexual and
she gave it to me.
girlfriend was bisexual.
have a Touch Me green tattoo on her
belly? she asks. Weve touched bases,
so to speak. I assent.
past being ethereal; terra incognita more apt.
blanks shot from a gun.