𝙾 𝙲 𝙲 𝚄 𝙻 𝚄 𝙼

by Noll Griffin

A joke would swoop in where my scissors closed
above scalps of any age, apprehension picked off
by a swallow’s chirp as tangles tumbled. I’d say things about
hair as a front lawn for all our human thoughts
so they could mock with crinkled, overheated eyes, the softest kind,
more from that silly observations file, less
of how their split ends waved between their heartbeats years ago.
At the end of a shift, something dangerous started
with dead, headless curls against my broom.
I barely saw a thing through hours shimmering on my feet,
until the blob formed from a dozen cuts’ dark spoils.
It took frantic shapes, newsreel charades beneath spinning seats,
as it pushed back at a sweep and grabbed the garbage bag’s edge
howling until I let it fall undefeated but faceless,
already skimmed across too many real features
and the anxious sweat of everyone trying to shed summer doom with a buzz cut
until a mixture of hints, a scribble in grease
bound a body with just enough shape to beg please, listen.
I took one outstretched clump in my fingers
and tried my wrinkled nose best, but let go at the first word attempt
in a scrape of a voice like my ear clipper-sliced,
a blood and sebum bubble.
I opened the door, let a passing car’s gust grab it by the scruff,
hoping someone had a harder nerve out there.

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Noll Griffin is a visual artist, writer, and musician based in Berlin, Germany. His first chapbook titled Tourist Info is available through Alien Buddha Press. You can find him on Tumblr/Twitter/Bluesky under @nollthere.