Futon Life

By Yuna Kang

of acronyms and diatomaceous
earth, stroads, cro-oads, the co-opt everyone
goes to for after-dinner milkshakes and wormy,
slipping through licentious fingers like soap. I go to the
bathroom to wash, lavender-pink substance foaming over

crackling skin. I put the newly formed blood to my mouth like
a toddler unused to bandages, first aid instinct, chlorine water hurts
the pinkie. From the high glass windows, (rectangular, fogged)

a crow crowed softly, workman’s lament. It took a lot to build these
things; we can-not tear them
down.