Aimée Baker - Doe

Procedure She once helped a boy create a spaceship from cardboard and duct tape. Smoothed ridges over angles. A thing of industry, now looped around her wrists, pulled tight across lips. It is like this that they examine her body. Leave their mark. 3.

Tour Within a triangle, things are lost. There is a house on the moon where he once told her he has been alive for several thousand years, yet still there was strength in his hands the time he wrapped them around her throat. There is a house where he made love to his creature, her skin glittering under arcs of light. And there is her home, the fiery orange carpet creased with bleach and the goddess of mercy keeping watch. 4. Time On the road to Magdalena, sound is cyclical.

This is how minutes go missing. There is just breathing. The dry sound of gestures. Voices. It is easy to forget what came before: the scent of jackfruit and fig, the weight of air before a monsoon, the electric blue heat that used to be love. 5.

Return The narrative leaves space for her bodys return. A ritual passage from one place to another. The ability to be left with a sense of foreboding. It remains empty. 6. Aftermath In the distance, like Bengal lights, beams of light flash by on the highways.

Incandescent lanes scaling through the sand. Here, the air is cleansed of water. The breeze heavy with iron as the world seems to collapse in on itself. This is the way stars burn out.