|May 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Two|
|C. L. Bledsoe|
Aristotle lay waking one morning listening
to his lover snore softly as though the world
passed through the boy's nose like breathe;
and then farted, soft and round, a dollop of dough pinched
from his cheeks. His lover did not wake. A man must push
melancholy from himself like air.