The Negatives

None of the clocks here agree with each other.

You look like a drummer; let's start a band.

They began to murmur in unison. The shadow

of the ceiling fan scraped the wall

like a tongue picks at a sore. Radiohead

were playing a concert in the basement, well,

really just one song, over and over.

They had to call the dogs on them. I like

the way you forget things, or set things

on fire. The click track was out of control.

There was a story behind this, wasn't there?

You used to tell it to me to make

my teeth fall out. No matter—the window

is black water, a dark eye

with thin ripples expanding across it, and

you're coughing like a busted amplifier.