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“What an absurd thing
No one wants to be brought back down to life
The hope of plasticity
if only he were to open them— maybe the best of company
Her portrait hung quietly
Floor Cushion — Point De Capiton private sale “What an absurd thingThe three friends sat on floor cushions, whose print had swallowed fallen playing cards. On the table between them, he spread open a bag of potato chips all the way down the side of its spine, so its iridescent insides were splayed like a makeshift banquette platter or the exposed underbelly of gutted fish: a bag dressed as a silver tray. For him, there was never a question about finishing the bag, about the grease and crumbs, just an ease, at once
