ticking thyme bombs of paprika and lime spice up his life, because when he beats his wife late at night she doesn’t cry anymore. she just watches Time fly by like witches on broomsticks, waiting for the right time to put cyanide in his cake mix. because she’s tired of watching reruns of jeopardy on cable while he’s out drinking to forget he can’t even get cheap thrills. but will his death make her Whole, or drive her deeper into the hole she has no cement to fill?
be still, she pleads, to a motionless heart.