mise-en-scène

Mark Ruffalo climbs the trellis of a dollhouse and into the window of a bedroom.		
             It sounds like the drum clap of a Big Thief instrumental.

	     I lay on the side of my bed and scream into sodden pillows upside down. 

I want permission to play an Almodóvarian boy in moving red: back arched, 
             cheeks to God, bottom lip pulled back in slight bite. 
             It’s the fuzz. 
	
             There’s a word for everything. 

One summer evening, I laid in bed with wet hair and prayed for pneumonia. 

Today, I slink underwear to the floor and drape belly down to couch 
                         and become eyes in wall. The idea is, imagine violence— 

                                                                              a transformer across the street will explode in 3 hours. 

                                                                                        * 

She holds a blue-black guitar and strums the opening cords of Sound & Color. 
             Wears Spanish blue linen across her tanned shoulders and 
             hums with eyes closed. This is for you, she says. I sit,

             cross-legged, my hands curled into carpet. Stare. Her ears 
             perk through the bends of her brown curls and 
             the open window behind 





and maybe, we’ve cheated death 

Andrew Barron is a writer and creative from Los Angeles, recollecting the sounds of a suburban computer room and its embryonic glitch hums. His work traces the residues of eroticism and echoes the images of popular culture. Often curating playlists, he can be found reminiscing the angst on instagram @angsty_wannabe.