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In the Coney Den
There are no more toxins to take in that haven't already been taken in. She struggles to keep her head up, to keep her legs crossed. She sizes up the freaks--the tattooed man, the bearded woman, the sword swallower, the contortionist--and she smiles grossly. She thinks she is one of them. She wants to be one of them. She unscrews the cap on the flask and drinks down the whisky. She walks up to the boardwalk. There used to be rabbits here, she thinks. Rabbits. So many that they overran the landscape. Now there's sad amusements, and the threat of overdevelopment. iConey Island breaks her heart. Always.

"In the Coney Den"

?" x ? "
acrylic on discarded glass window
25 March, 2007

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