I pause to frame the sunset, the horizon a flat razor, the dolphin blues and lemon hues, the blistering oranges ablaze in HD, I assume, my composition bled black by heaven glaring back. My mind’s eye unequal.
I ensconce cross-legged at the la trattoria, espresso at mine elbow, Proust flayed, boat shoe dangling, pinstripe agape, cravat slung low, panama askew. I reach for my phone to behold uno momento ago.
A fleshy orc squints back, teeth like tombstones in seguito earthquake, Jackson Pollock pores, sausage nose, sunken sockets, chins for days, a pink splodge where my fat finger lay, sparing me the rosaries of unhealed neck acne.
I delete my own sunset, my mind’s eye equalised.
Ian Johnson’s work has appeared in 3:AM Magazine, Scaffold Literary Magazine, and Hawkeye Magazine.