This afternoon, when writing this intro, I was sitting in a coffee shop like usual. In came a man carrying a large sink, a basin. He set it on the ground as he ordered a latte. It was the most beautiful sink I have ever seen. I have a sink in my house, several, as do you, I’m sure. But this was a large porcelain basin, washed in subtle pinks and yellows. All the more interesting was its context or lack thereof. Did this man just purchase this sink from one of the surrounding shops? Is he a tourist or a local? Will he walk this sink back to his home, there to install it? Back to his hotel to carefully package and ship back to wherever his home is? You can’t carry a sink on to a plane, can you? What was missing made this event and imbued it with its beauty. As I left, I said, that is the most beautiful sink I have ever seen and he looked at me funny. Each day this week, we will feature a portion of Dot Devota’s “Defenestrations: The Division of Labor,” a series of prose poems. Her sentences, often fragments, move from one stunning image to the next but are always incomplete.
"One who smoked, the other who threaded the past into a tear-shaped hook and sutured the fabric’s widening entrance. An unbelievable story mask, the eyes poking holes, mouth kissing back to before it was kissed."
"( C o n t . ) The harp a palmtree. The liberty bell a swollen fire pit. You’ve caught the light against history."
"A cop was pulling us over. We looked for a museum to hide, and found a museum. Dedicated to fallen tyrants. The seventieth thru ninetieth floors were okay, but the basement was a coatroom for cadavers, cannibalism, and insane babies of the fifth dimension. We followed with casual conversations about the fourth."
"We can barely hold our spoons silent. The window you exist beneath is a brilliant divorce from anything I’ve ever had to dumpster dive for. I’d nail you shut, but glass stays evenly between our heart’s burial stance."