Ben Kassoy


Your hair as usual is
untethered / freewheeling / fearless
and whispers into the water
as it sinks beyond the surface of the sea
and summons luminescent eels
to swim circles around
your generous and tenacious body,

and on my end it’s Christmas morning
and I’m alone in a log cabin
and I’ve stuffed my stocking
with the delusion of control,
like making the bed
three hundred times a day
like I’m running a love hotel for ghosts,
or like going to Vegas
and betting a million dollars
that Hawaii will still be there tomorrow.

Ben Kassoy (he/him) is a payphone that rings.