Shaye Anderson


Silverware

Eyes closed like Momma’s cock-eyed blinds,
tin-foil voices, tin-foil woman,
they sink the living room into four-thousand leagues
of night
make the sofa look white,
make the carpet stains red.
“I have an aversion to most silverware, ” I say.
That’s the nice way of saying that homicide runs in the family.

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