Some People Have A Way With Words,

The Matisse Seemed To Respond To The Decreasing Light By Increasing Its Own Wattage. Every Object In The Room Was Drained Of Color, But The Matisse Stood Firm In The De-escalating Illumination, Its Beauty Turning Functionality Inside Out, Making Itself A More Practical And Useful Presence Than Anything Else In Sight.

[her] Mind Blackens. The Blackness Is Not A Thought, But If It Could Be Pressed Into A Thought, If A Chemical From A Dropper Could Be Dripped Onto It Causing Its Color And Essence To Become Visible, It Would Take The Shape Of This Sentence: Why Does No One Want Me?

She Was Feeling Her Bohemian Oats.

Don't Have Sex Man. It Leads To Kissing And Pretty Soon You Have To Start Talking To Them.

...a Young Man, Jamaican, Perhaps, His Head Circled In A Scarf With Sunbleached Dreadlocks On Piled On Top, Looking Like A Plate Of Soft-shell Crabs.