Volume 3, May 2011

Kelly BoykerView Contributor’s Note

Real Country Dark

There is a straight edge at the juncture where the shopping list interlaces the butcher shop humidity, which shines and pushes back at the woman behind the meat counter then evaporates in the air above the freezer. The necessary ingredients form a sharp circle, a gas ring or maybe an open sore. Your disappearance is the obvious selection. Thumb and slick back the curl, blow on the Polaroid. Who is at the window wearing plastic shoes and crying? Who is putting on his apron and standing by the radiator? Who shall be cured to intensify the flavor? Concerning a stainless steel bowl, concerning the jowls of a pig, concerning your stained dress and how the shopkeeper arranges time. An easy bargain, but you must decide what you will trade. Consistency in the mouth and throat. She can make you float, if necessary.