You're All Knuckles
You’re All Knuckles
by Shawn Misener
Her eyeballs are made of fur, like plush little bumblebees at home in her sockets.
She’s talking about process. About building the world’s greatest rocking chair. About climbing the walls of her apartment with nothing but a spatula coated in Nutella.
I hear her. She’s making sense.
I want to rip off her clothes but they’re made of some gelatinous mess that only gives up one wet handful at a time. This is funny to her but not so funny to me.
I think back on a life of sexual frustration. She must be the goddess that made my exploits so miserable.
This is what she says before slipping through a hatch in the floor: *You’re all knuckles. Even that funky penis of yours.*
0 thoughts on “You're All Knuckles”
i luv the dream fiction! Seemingly random and unrelated items such as furry eyeballs, rockingchair, spatula with Nutella, sexual desire, and a hatch in the floor all combine to make this piece uncannilly ama-za-zing! How come sex enters so much into our dreams as men? Primal desires emerge meshing with the nuts and bolts of modernity. Human interaction transforms us into our innermost similes. The only thing about this that didn’t work for me was the form. Even though it may read like a short story, i guess i would have preferred a poem structure to it–but that’s just me. thx for sharing!
I love the last line–but maybe that’s just my knuckly dick talking.