by G. Kenneth Weir
Fool, fool, I kissed a fool, and God help me I don’t know what to do. The orbs I made love to over sushi are now as windows to a desert. Even the lashes I studied as I tongued and sucked fill me now with a desire to mutilate. I don’t care a whisker for what this hollow shell before me is saying. Its dreams are absurd, its expressions of joy and amusement grotesque. There is but one thing left for me — I must wipe the little mirror clean and try again.
G. Kenneth Weir has been writing fiction for some years now. His most recent work will be appearing in issue #23 (December 2010) of Yellow Mama. He currently day-slaves as a copywriter in grim downtown Toronto, although he's not sure why. (He once said hello to Yoko Ono - she looked right through him.)