wound |
by Jake Tringali

her head in
her hands
her head in
a metal box
her head in
a faberge egg
delicate needles and spindles
whirring, warming
steam puffs past
clockwork brain overclocked
micron gears, levers
clicking, speeding
the perfectly lathed piston
balanced on air
    cracks hairline
subtle, minute, and utterly effective
her head
hangs low
her hands in
her lap


Jake Tringali was born in Boston.  He has lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, and is now back in his home city.  He runs rad restaurants.  He thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers. He has been published in The Manhattanville Review and Oddball Magazine.