They Call This House Dead.
my roommate’s new year’s resolutions were to dismantle ISIS & worry less. also the two hospital visits. also the other one is moving out. & her boo looks like a kind Sasquatch. but the one with the new years resolutions is a painter & she is magic. & she works in a cafe & everything she wears tells you how much more comfortable she is than you are & you appreciate it. then there’s the comedian who tell stories in her bedroom. to people, well people tell stories to each other in her bedroom & they cry & laugh & apparently I have to be there, I have to tell my stories, but—
everyone who leaves these circles of confession ignores me as I sit on the porch. my house shoes & cigarette must tell stories of vagrancy or myths of invisibility. on my own porch I am merely a moving shadow. & everyone who moves out says the house is dead, being here is dancing in graveyard-basement-party.
jayy dodd is a writer, editor, and homeboy from Los Angeles, now based in Boston. His work has appeared / will appear in Lambda Literary, Prelude, Assaracus, Guernica, Winter Tangerine and The Offing. He’s the author of [sugar in the tank] on Pizza Pi Press. You can find him on the internet talking trash about something.