A chain of crushed nouns has upended my mind. It’s o.k. It’s all right, pretended my mind. A quick cut. A small nick. A surgical touch. O Penthidine, Tramadol, so splendid my mind! Ram drew back the string of King Janak’s great bow, Sita shot through the lifetimes and tended my mind. …
Little brother drinks his neon sadness liquid—no one has a healthy relationship with Mountain Dew. Large, no ice. That means more pop for his buck. Who knows if he enjoys the stuff anymore. I think it’s less about savoring those extra sips and more about putting off the empty cup, that undrinkable last bit…
If 1 is the name of your best friend from sixth grade, which, for no reason, you remember right now, standing in your socks on the cold tile of the examination room and 2 is finding your car in the parking lot later and noticing how dirty it has become—the back seat littered with…
One thing’s for sure; in the future, the morgues are going to be full of tattoos. It’s going to be more colorful, and easier to manage: “Hey Jeff, move Dolphin-Shoulder-Girl to Tray Seven.” “And get Mr. Flames-On-My-Neck out for the doc.” In Italy the tabloids are talking about the “Ambulenza di Morte,” The Ambulance…
You are your father’s broad back re-writ in small script. Your feet, like his, grasp the soil, confident the planet will never spin too fast to throw you off. I never was so sure. I spent most of my childhood watching the clouds move while I stayed still. …
si vis pacem, para bellum— If you want peace, prepare for war. Today I slammed the door so hard the house fell behind me. If any ring remains, of rubble & consequence, my salt heart agape, an oh to construct the shape of the whole just before— This was my…
Before she died, my mother practiced turning herself into stone. Now she sits—a rock on my father’s grave, six feet above his reach. Each spring he punches a hole in his roof, sending up a riot of yellow flowers to tempt her into softening. The tendrils of his need claw the air, grope to touch…
I don’t wear long dresses because bad things always happen when I do. For Kai’s wedding, he hit his head skinny dipping afterwards on the cement by the pool, ended up in the ER while his bride slept, her father an inappropriate Gemini questioning me all night long, sober like the righteous lion. I wore…
Everything threatens— benches meant for children occupied by old men who clutter the playground and interrupt the slides where a schizophrenic takes interstellar dictation. I’m looking for a way out— not a way down and play the game of sidewalk juxtapositions: cons versus dot coms crazies versus kids in superhero shirts….
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