This Is Then There Are
Elizabeth Witte
The night is ever invisible. The rain tonight, a vortex.
The skin of the eye is human is iguana is crater is bowl.
“This is transmission.” “Not tonight.”
The floor in the kitchen is linoleum is not even.
“Is this about eating?” “Of course it is.”
This is the place for the what people.
Wrap them. They are whoever you are.
“This is the softest membrane.” “Available.”
Austerity is just another word rewritten.
We cut the sign apart and more pieces stop for us.
“Congratulations on your teeth.” “They're your gums.”
“Constellations don't want to be.” “But they are.”
Elizabeth Witte lives/works in and around Somerville, Massachusetts. Recent work has been published or is forthcoming in Shampoo, Glitter Pony, and LIES/ISLE.
