Travis Purser
Genius
The naked woman and I step through the open closet door and follow the moonlight tothe secret balcony that’s held together with mortician’s putty. I wear a tinfoil hat to protect
my brainwaves. What we do up here is smoke cigarettes. Lucky Strikes. The glowworm
treating every night as if it’s New Year’s Eve. “When I drink too much whiskey, I can’t
write,” I say. To the naked woman. “The North Korean guards charged with keeping
King Norodom Sihanouk safe enjoy a game of kickfeather.” A do-rag. A dobbin. A pill
of Vicodin. The words strike me as…an electric car hums by. I’m drunk. I’m pulling an
elephant. Calling dogs strawberries. A cat is in the rooftop room. I think about the ending
and try to remain declarative. “Don’t be too quiet in your silence,” she says. “Rock me to
stillness.”
