by Kimmy Chang Matheus Ferreira i blame the erratic pulse of social media. a wondrously flashy line of dialogue. the man whispered it from the master closet, where he lay on the linoleum beside his wife’s pink poof. starved, folded in some forgotten sock —  i sat in silence. he rubbed his toes together, then crossed his legs. sweet lily, i have only you to talk to. the man rattles through his to-dos —  spray herbicide, buy butcher steak —  all of it circles back to the sweet