My thoughts, they bulge
from the surface of my
skin, swelling and twisting,
oblong blue branches stemming
across gaping valleys of hushed pores.
Suits with crescent scowls
point knives at me, threatening to
slice me open and let the dense
air swallow me whole.
I hide in a music box that plays
off-key carnival tunes, letting my blood
thicken to a viscous concentrate.
With a gentle touch, I squeeze blood
onto page, after page, soaking them
until they drip, saturated. Once
from the box, I wring out
the pages over the suits—
their bodies wither
into an ashy heap, and I hear
that same off-key carnival music
on the radio for the first time.
Evan Goetz is an enigma wrapped in chocolate filigree. He is a graduate of the University of South Florida with a B.A. in creative writing. His work can be found in Damfino Press and Digital Papercut among other journals. When he is not writing, he spends his time performing with an improv troupe making a fool of himself.