Last Night & Yesterday by Joslyn Sklar

Last night i dreamt i was gray into my fingers, with a line of ants chipping bits of tissue from the lining of my small intestines like old drywall. they marched single file up through my belly and out of my mouth and laid their bounty in a pile on my pillow next to my cheek as an offering to their swollen queen.

Yesterday i was a street dentist. i scratched my autograph into a drifter’s mouth with a jagged pinky nail. i slept next to a dumpster last night and dreamt about kidnapping a carnie. i mussed his toupee and whispered in his ear, “i’m going to leave your teeth behind the carousel. all i want for ransom is a bag of jawbreakers.”


“They seem happier when you're not around.”