Suzanne Savickas

Las Casas

No shape variation. The houses were formed by cookie cutters. She was forced to display the same mailbox as the rest. The inside appeared no different. Same floor plan. Same refrigerator. Same stove top. The yards acted as a reflection to each other. Afraid to cross the grass with shoes on, I wished for concrete.

Three blocks of concrete to the new casa. Bring along the wood and the green with us. A step below creaks from heavy feet.

Proceed

A cardboard box keeps the room from empty space. Open the brown before spreading the colores.

1. Turn right into the open space
2. Turn right again
3. Observe


The miniature creatures line dance across her wall. The wood comes to life.

Begin to crawl when the room grows dark. Can feel their presence. The dancing legs. The microscopic bodies.

technology
for v. 
the broken television acts as a sculpture.  brings in negative charges of frequency from the clouds above.  re-fragments the dead images of him and him and her.  sits in front of it in anticipation.  it never turns on.  [static disconnect]  the chemical abstract in her body defunct.  needs them to effectively move.  the couch no longer represents comfort.  wire straggles.  digs deeper into her slender legs.  the cushions leave trails of foam and feathers as a reminder.  popcorn burnt, she replaces the microwave with the television.  same size/same stagnant reflection.  creates her own fiction in black and white.  the black ink on her forearm will not bleed.  branded, she waits for the call.  the telephone wires work.  she is not alone. 

Suzanne Savickas obtained her MFA from Naropa University. She’s currently writing a poetry manuscript based on Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Film Stills. Suzanne resides in the Midwest where she writes poetry and works as a rehabilitation counselor. She is founder and editor of Le Pink-Elephant Press and co-editor of the press’s new subsidiary, A Trunk of Delirium.