t i m    b o t t a

Astrid

Nectarine

Astrid

I heard Astrid’s steps on the aluminum
diamond-stud tread. The district manager


opened a red envelope. Don’t forget
the opaque dividers: wavelet, trampoline fix,


hoodwinked worm, inquisition fluid.
And time-lapse nude photography. Affogato.


The time clock is not an incense clock, or a water thief.
Oxidized clover-clamps from the fulfillment center.

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Nectarine

Her piercings, as we sleep, soak in brine.
Her coral circumference. Steel cart, nectarine


halves. New ladies sign linen. Swivel,
ribbons of your separation. More diversions


for dystopians. Frothy thongs. The staff
have vodka headaches. A vocoder. Roughened sphere


heavy with eye campers.
He searched in the prototype, and found her.

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TIM BOTTA lives in North Carolina, and is an instructor at a local community college. His work has appeared in Gutcult, Shampoo, Unpleasant Event Schedule, and word for/word.