by Corey Zeller
I know the staircase that leads
We are watching a film about the trumpet player who loses his mouth. We are part of the blur that comes between frames, the pink static. We are sitting on the stage of stadium adorned with the furniture from my childhood living room. Balloons are falling everywhere. I am dressed in a blue jumpsuit with white stars around the collar. I am wearing star glasses. I have a star shaved into my beard. When I cough, or sneeze, three or four people clap from far away. On the screen, the trumpet … Read the rest