"This is it at last, this is the secret we've been waiting for." -James Tate, from Return to the City of White Donkeys

Childhood

I left my office building a bit early on Friday. Listen here, bum a man said, as I walked by. I stopped. Excuse me I said. I’ve had about enough of you the man said. I looked up and down the street. Nobody was around, probably because I had left so early, and rush hour hadn’t begun yet. I think you may be mistaken, sir. I’m no bum I said. I know a bum when I see one the man said. I’m actually pretty well off I said. I’ve watched you, you bum he said. I have a decent job, a nice apartment I said. Going in and out of that building, like you own the place he said. I have a pleasant, quiet dog I said. Wearing that suit, but I know you’re really just a bum he said. We both stopped talking at the exact same moment. It was eerily silent, and, by now, it must have been rush hour. For a second, I was sure that we were the last two people left on earth. Me, and this accusatory man. I wanted to hold him, to make sure he was real, and to make sure he would never leave me. I grabbed the man. Get your filthy paws off me, you damn bum he said. I was beginning to wonder about myself. I forgot where I was going, and where I had come from. I couldn’t explain the clothes I was wearing. I couldn’t even explain why I was standing. I was a wisp of air that took shape every once in a while, appearing and disappearing in the shape people wanted. Or, that’s how I felt. This man wanted me to be a bum. And, so, I became a bum. You’re right I said. I am a bum. The man smiled. I know he said. Will you buy me some food, I’m very hungry I said. Of course he said.

"We rocked back and forth as if some raggedy sense had snuck back into our lives." -James Tate, from Worshipful Company of Fletchers

Blend

I was busy on a day of running errands. My next stop was a haircut, which was long overdue. I drove to Carl’s Barber Shop, where I was a loyal customer, going every month for at least ten years. As the familiar bell tinkled when I opened the door, I was met by an unfamiliar barber. Hello, sir. How can I help you the unfamiliar barber said. Where’s Carl I said. Carl has been having some health issues. My name is Jeremy, and I’m here to watch shop for a little while, until Carl recovers. Jeremy was older. At least sixty, with a magnificent head of brilliantly white hair. He wore thick-rimmed glasses with thick glass, magnifying his blue eyes slightly. I decided to trust him with my hair. I had other, bigger, more important errands to run that day, anyway. Ok, well, my name is Henry Hudsin. Has Carl mentioned anything about me I said. Jeremy’s eyes brightened. Oh, Mr. Hudsin, Carl has told me all about you, how you’ve been one of his most valued customers for at least the last decade he said. I smiled. Yes, yes, well, has he told you how I like my hair to be cut I said. Jeremy nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. Of course, of course, I think I can handle it he said. I would have been surprised if he said he couldn’t. It was really just a trim with the scissors, nothing all too spectacular. He sat me in one of the chairs, wrapping a cloth around my neck, draping it over my front. He disinfected his comb, and pulled out a spray bottle, spraying my hair wet, and combing it every which way. He then pulled out a pair of scissors, and started cutting away. How’s your day going Jeremy said. Oh, just fine. Busy. Lots to do, still, also I said. Jeremy then pulled out a pair of shears, and started using those on my hair. Tough hair, you’ve got there he said. How long have you been cutting hair I said. Oh, my whole life, really. My father was a barber, and my grandfather, and his father. As far back as I know, I come from a very long line of barbers he said. He then pulled out clippers, and began buzzing the back of my head. Is that so I said. Jeremy nodded. Hold on just one moment he said, walking over to the back room. He walked back, holding a set of pliers and a small saw. With the pliers, he would tug at a tuft of my hair, and then saw it off with the small saw. Er, are you sure you know what you’re doing I said. Jeremy stopped, set his tools down, and sat in the chair next to mine. He buried his face in his hands, and began crying. I’m sorry he said. I’m no good. I shook my head. No, no, really, it’s alright I said. He began crying even harder. I never was a good barber. I only started because I thought I would make my father proud, but I just don’t have a knack for cutting hair he said. It’s just hair, really I said. I’m old, and lonely, and I’m afraid that I’ll die without having accomplished a thing as a barber. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had to get going soon, with all the other errands to run, but I didn’t want to leave this poor wreck alone. I went to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Hey, listen there, pal I said. He looked up at me, sniffling like a small child. Would you like to come with me I said. I have some very important errands to run, still, and I could use a hand. Jeremy looked around the shop. Well, I’ll have to close up, but that’s all right, now that you’ve come in. You’re the only customer Carl’s got he said. I felt a sense of pride and sadness all at the same time. Jeremy locked up Carl’s Barber Shop, and we walked to my car hand in hand, and I knew he was pretending I was his father, taking him on some sort of adventure, and I didn’t mind.

"It was false baby with false baby's breath." -James Tate, from Worshipful Company of Fletchers

Soil

I happen upon myself in the kitchen. I’m making a salad of some sort, but I don’t want salad, I want that leftover pasta. I try to tell myself this, but every time I open my mouth to speak, I also open my mouth to speak, and so I just stand there, mouth ajar, breathing in and in and in, stopping each time to see what I had to say, until I feel faint. I try to sit, but then I sit right down in the chair I was going to sit in, but then, after a pause, I sit there anyway. I think what the hell, may as well sit where I’m sitting and I sit there with myself. I say to myself boy, have you changed and I nod at myself very solemnly. You used to be one of the good guys, then you sold out, you sold our plans, you betrayed us and for what, for this meager apartment and uneventful life I say. My stomach growls. I’m hungry, but I keep stealing every bite I try to eat. I curse myself every time, and every time I threaten to leave the table, and never come back again, and I wished that you, or I, would.

"I had until seven to find the human in me, to teach him to walk and talk, and maybe even to care." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Fumes

I told a joke at work, and a few people began laughing, quietly, at it. I felt embarrassed, because I had told them that it was the most incredible joke I had ever heard. I could tell they were laughing with disdain, truly disappointed at the lack of punch in the joke. After everyone had slunk off to do their work, I went back to my office, and began working also. A few minutes later, I heard knocking on my door, and my boss entered my office. Dallas, we need to have a word she said. I looked at my computer screen for a moment, and nodded. Ok I said. I got up from my desk, and we walked down the long corridor of cubicles, to her office, at the other end of the building. She closed the door behind her. Dallas, it’s come to my attention that you’ve told a joke again she said. I let out a burst of nervous laughter. Well, er, yes I said. I was told that you were of the impression that it was the most incredible joke that you had ever heard she said. I shrugged. Yes, although, now, after having told it, I may reconsider I said. Tell me the joke she said. I told the joke, laughing like an imbecile once I was finished. My boss just stared at me, stone-faced, shaking her head slowly. That really was bad she said. I’m sorry I said. This is bad for company morale, you can’t tell jokes like that to anybody, ever, anymore she said. I looked down at my feet. Nobody at work ever got me, or my humor. I was selling out comedy shows across the nation, and these zombies still wouldn’t laugh. I walked back to my office, a low moaning following me, my undead boss slowly following, my other undead coworkers following suit. I shut my office door behind me, locked it, and set a laughing track on at full volume. It drowned out their screaming, moaning, and the strange gurgling noise they always seemed to make. They scratched violently at the door. I hoped I would make it out that day, like I hoped every day.

"You were born to feel a way you don't have a word for." -Matthew Zapruder, from Come On All You Ghosts

Moon

I go through a door

and behind me it locks

and there are two doors

in front of me

I choose the left door

and I go through the door

and behind me it locks

and there are two more

doors waiting

I choose the right door

and I go through

and it locks

and there are two more

and it’s so dim now

I can barely see

and it’s getting colder

with every door I go through

and I choose the left door

and I must be brave

for continuing in this way

slowly going blind

and numb

"I begin to wonder who I am because I don't look like me." -Zach Schomburg, from Scary, No Scary

Scarves

The sun came out, and so I begin to evaporate. You notice this first as my skin receding from my hands, my hair disappearing. You offer me a glass of water, but it’s too late for that. I’m bald and skinless and the process is only intensifying. My vision changes, on account of my eyes fading into a gaseous state and floating upwards to the sky. I now see around our house, the trees, the river and downstream to the next town, like multiple bird’s eye views. I try to explain this to you over your hysterics, only that I’m a bit hysterical myself, and my mouth is all around you, so I’m unable to speak. My skin itches and I try to scratch it against branches and our roof. My bones are now drafts of wind, and I’m carried away, everywhere, and seemingly endlessly. I’m nothing and everything all at once. It feels like jumping into a pool and bursting into flames at the same instant. I’ll fall soon again, and I hope to form correctly, and find you sitting there, complete, and unbroken.

"I started firing every which way, blind as a bat." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Mourning

You shoved an envelope into my chest. I had no idea who you were. Here, take this you said. But don’t open it. I grabbed the envelope, and held it. Hide it hide it you said. I put it under my shirt. Now, don’t read it until the time is right. I nodded. We’re all depending on you you said. I nodded again, a bit more enthusiastically this time. Take this seriously you said. The timing has to be perfect. I patted my chest, where the envelope was resting. You remember your instructions. I looked around, making sure nobody was watching us. Consider your training. I bent down, and laced up my now unlaced boot. Everybody is the enemy, now. This is the attitude you must have. I karate-chopped the air and smiled. Don’t joke. I changed my demeanor, and became more solemn. But act natural. I straightened my mouth, and raised my eyebrows, uncertain of what to do, exactly, anymore. We’re all depending on you you repeated, and then a van pulled up. You entered through the sliding door, and the van screeched off around the corner. I walked down the street, and took a seat at the coffee shop. An enemy smiled at me as she walked by. Another enemy approached me and asked if I’d like anything, like a cup of coffee. I would be going down some sort of rabbit-hole soon, but, for then, I would order a cappuccino, and drink it, wondering who you were, and who you intended to give this envelope to, the envelope poking into my chest like a knife all the while. I would feel lonely, and part of something greater, all at the same time. I wouldn’t want to let everybody down.

"Poor child alone in all the universe, without sunsets, without even me." -James Tate, from Memoir of the Hawk

Butter

I wanted to build something—anything, really—and so I went to the hardware and building supplies store. I’ll need nails, a hammer, and a saw I said to the clerk. Building something, eh the old, little clerk said. Boy, you said it I said. I’ll also need a power drill, a set of ratcheting wrenches, and some heavy-duty bolts I said. Quite the project you’re undertaking, eh the clerk said, scrambling with the items as I called them out. Sledgehammer, circular chainsaw, level, power washer, carpet steamer, riding lawnmower, also I said, as the clerk ran from store-room to store-room, accruing each item and setting it by the counter by me. Electrical wiring, construction tape, aluminum siding, a Philips head screwdriver, ten thousand screws, ten thousand nails, a few combination locks, a brush with heavy bristles, and some dynamite would be handy, if you have it I called out. And enough wood to make a replica of a redwood forest. The little, old man, sprinted around, surprisingly nimbly, jumping from shelf to shelf, like an ape-like monster, like a gremlin, throwing each item to my feet, and I could have sworn that I heard him growling every once in a while. I’ll also need bricks, mortar, a cement mixer, maybe even a cement truck, a few tons of sand, red and blue paint, a wheelbarrow, steel piping, plastic zip-ties, stone floor tiles, shingles, and a good pair of work gloves. When he was finished collecting everything, I stood for a moment in complete awe, taking in all of man’s tools of creation, anticipating what wonders I could make. You must be building the ultimate thing the clerk said, huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth slightly, hands at each side of his head, holding it up in place. I must be I said.

"'Let's pretend you are my cowboy,' he said." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Gone

As I was walking down the road, I noticed a lion, male, with full, brilliant mane and muscular haunches, walking among all the other pedestrians. Nobody seemed to notice. No alarm was raised. I walked as quickly and as quietly as I could to the next pedestrian walking in front of me. Lion I whispered. What the man said. Look at that lion I said. Can you believe it. The man looked at the lion for a moment. Well, yes, I suppose I do he said. His cell phone began ringing, so he put up an index finger to me, slowed his pace, and answered. I continued to follow the majestic creature, cautiously. It walked with a sort of sweeping motion, in perfect, unchanging pace, like a pendulum. It almost looked as if it wasn’t even touching the ground, like there was a very thin layer of air between paw and concrete, propelling him forward as smoothly as possible. I walked up to another pedestrian. What’s with the lion I said. The woman looked at me as if I were a lunatic. That lion she said, pointing at the lion. I nodded. That’s the new mayor. Haven’t you heard she said. Or are you not politically active. She looked disgusted with me. She was right, though. I wasn’t politically active. I had no idea that there was a new mayor that was a lion. So that’s mayor…I said. Plimbton she finished. She shook her head and walked faster, walking past the lion, and around the corner. I and the few other pedestrians, and the lion, caught the “no walk” light, and so we all stopped at the corner. My heart was racing. The only other time I had seen a lion was on a television safari show. I inched towards the lion. So, do I call you Mayor Plimbton, or King of the Jungle Plimbton I said, chuckling nervously. The lion looked up to my face, curled its lip, and emitted a low growl from its throat. I took a step back. Oh, no worries, I definitely voted for you I said. The lion opened its large mouth and let out a full-scale roar, and I could feel its hot breath against my face. I continued to back up until I bumped into another pedestrian. You never talk to the mayor he said. He’s great, though. Besides the fact that he’s generally not very personable, he’s really cleaned up these streets he said. I looked around. The streets were cleaner. I hadn’t been mugged once, on this walk. The “walk” light turned, and we all walked on, along with the lion, the new king of our town, and we were all very impressed.

"I can see it in his eyes, how he wants me to be something human." -Zachary Schomburg, from From the Fjords

Fitting

I walked up to the dark cave in my backyard, like I do every day after work, and just stood there, listening. The cave made different sounds every day. Sometimes it even played tunes, little jingles, and they sounded perfect to sell any sort of meaningless product to me. When it gets dark, the cave emits a faint glow, a sort of pleasant luminescence, sometimes of colors I never knew existed. In the cold, the cave breathes warm air into my face. In the warm, a cool draft releases from within the cave. It often smells like a baking chicken, or a boiling stew, or baking muffins. After standing in front of the cave all night, I’m usually afraid of the world not directly in front of the cave, where sometimes things aren’t pleasant. I’ll curl up in front of it as the sun rises, and I’ll say that I’ll never leave. That’s when the beast that lives within the cave jumps out at me, roars at me, and chases me away, to work. He stops every time I enter the door. I’m usually on edge all day, but I’m always drawn back, even with that monster in there. I’ll bring you with me one day when we’re older. We’ll go inside the cave, hand in hand, the sound of a baby laughing drowning our ears, the glow blinding us, the warmth beating off our faces, the smells of delicious foods causing us to drool profusely. We’ll live like royalty there, and we’ll chase all others away.

"Her husband worried that she might like the goat better than him, so he gave her a chair." -James Tate, from Memoir of the Hawk

A Fine Thing

Jalen kicked in my door and tackled me to the floor. Listen, this is for your own good he said, as he bonked me over the head with some sort of blunt object, knocking me unconscious. When I came to, I was tied to a chair, a lamp with horrible, artificial lighting blaring in my face. Silhouettes were talking to me. I recognized the voice of one to be Jalen’s. What were you up to yesterday Jalen said. Jalen, I was with you. We went to the movies I said. The two silhouettes whispered to one another. There is no Jalen, here the other shape said. Jalen, what is this all about I said. A matter of national security Jalen said. And I don’t know who Jalen is, but I’m not him. I shook my head and squinted my eyes. What we do know is that you’re Jason DeVries, and that you’re plotting against your very own country the other shape said. I continued to shake my head. My name was Quentin Turner, and I was an insurance salesman. Hardly any sort of threat to anyone. I don’t know who this Jason DeVries is, but I’m not him. I’m Quentin Turner, and I’m an insurance salesman I said. From another room, some loud cheering began. The two silhouettes shook hands and laughed. What I said. What’s going on. The light turned off, and I could recognize Jalen now, and somebody who I didn’t recognize. We’ve just had your confession, is all Jalen said. A group of people, all of whom I didn’t recognize, poured into the room, popping champagne bottles and wearing party hats. They looked like NASA employees from a 90’s movie. They untied me, and began cheering me on. Quentin Turner, insurance salesman, Quentin Turner, insurance salesman, Quentin Turner they cried. Jalen walked up to me, and whispered in my ear. You did a good thing, here he said. The NASA people put me on their shoulders, and gave me my own bottle of champagne to drink. Some had tears in their eyes. They were leading me to my execution.

"Some crows in a huddle on the edge of our loveseat waiting for some soul to carry away." -Zachary Schomburg, from The Man Suit

Chemicals

As I was walking across the bridge, a woman walking in the other direction, directly towards me, bumped into me. She had a look of alarm on her face, as I’m sure I had a similar look on mine. We both took a step back, then she took a step to the right, and I, to the left. We took a step forward, and bumped into each other again. Excuse me I said. Pardon me she said. She took a step to the left, and I to the right, this time. We bumped into each other again. Clumsy me I said. I’m a real scatterbrain she said. I’m such a klutz I said. I’m being so inept she said. I’m the biggest birdbrain I said. I’m all thumbs right now she said. A businessman walking past had stopped and been watching us, in hopelessly consistent and predictable flux, bumping into one another over and over, each exchanging some sort of pleasantry intended to put the blame solely on ourselves. You’re both fools, but polite fools he said. He corrected us, by pulling me to my right, and she to her right. Now, go he commanded. As we took a step forward, missing each other just barely, grazing our shoulders, we stopped and I looked to my left at her, and she to her right at me. This moment was done, and it would be gone forever. The businessman didn’t care much for this sort of thing, but he has ended something that could have potentially been endless. He thinks he’s relieved us, a hero in his mind: a fixer of helpless bumpers on the bridge. We break our gaze of one another, and I walk on to my home, and she, I can only assume, to hers.

"Drift into a coma where strange appliances tell me I'm an excellent human being." -James Tate, from Memoir of the Hawk

Never Mind

Joseph fell backwards to his rear while attempting to jump over a puddle, getting his favorite green pants wet. Carla began laughing at this accident, and, as a result, swallowed the gum she had been chewing. The look of incredulity on her face, in return, made Joseph laugh, which caused him to slip onto his front while attempting to rise out of the puddle, getting his favorite grey shirt wet. Carla started laughing again, this time with more fervor and severity, which caused her to stagger into a prickly bush. Her resulting cries at all the small prickles all over her made Joseph roll about, laughing where he lay, in the puddle. He stood up and wrung his shirt from the water, causing it to drip over his favorite leather shoes. The small fit he threw at his soaked favorite outfit made Carla scream with laughter, which caused a baby in a stroller to begin to cry. The mother shot the two of them a dirty look, rose from her bench, and started walking towards the other end of the park, stroller in front. The look that this mother gave caused Carla and Joseph to look at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. They banged their heads against the ground after falling, they kicked each other in the shins and guts unintentionally, and they laughed more and more at the increasing violence of their accidents. Soon, they had picked up sticks and rocks, and they began to tear each other apart, laughing all the while. Soon, they weren’t even people anymore, just shapes, and, soon after, they were visually unrecognizable. They were only sounds, like laughs, but also like screams. The sun set on the park, and the screams turned to low growls, or chuckles.

"Like being in a chair with really long legs sinking slowly into the pond on a beautiful day." -Zachary Schomburg, from Scary, No Scary

Superficial

The bottoms of my teeth all opened up, and hundreds of thousands of little teeth begin to pour out. There are more teeth in my teeth I say with difficulty, with so many tiny teeth cascading off my bottom lip, like a waterfall. Nobody is around to hear. The tips of my fingers pop off like bottle caps, and scores of very thin very long fingers begin to extend out from inside. Ah, spaghetti fingers make up the insides of my fingers I say, attempting to scratch my head, but breaking a few of the delicate fingers in the process. The trap door in my stomach opens, and miniature versions of my ribcage, complete with internal organs within, begin to fall to my feet. My insides have more insides to spare I say, almost hysterically, trembling. I think this may be dying, but who can be sure? I feel an itch on my forehead, and, when I scratch it, I feel a crack up the middle, extending to the nape of my neck. It feels wrong to continue to scratch, but the itch is too strong for me to stop myself. My head eventually cracks open, and, from the depths of me, tiny little versions of me, all naked, covered in amniotic fluid, screaming, jump out. They gnaw on my toes. They take my rib cages and make them into armor of sorts. They break my spaghetti fingers apart into inch long segments, and affix my little teeth on top. They wield them like axes. They’re all going to battle of some sort. I’m a brave boy they all say over and over, marching in perfect unison northward. I think good, northward we go, and I’ve never felt more proud, or alive.

"I found and started destroying everything secretly." -Matthew Zapruder, from American Linden

Skeptic

It looks like I’m getting out of bed. It appears that I’m putting on my slippers, and that my toes are wiggling in the warmth of my slippers. How delightful! It’s of the appearance that I’m standing up now, and walking, even. All of this amuses me greatly, because look at me go! It’s really something or another. It seems like I’m cooking some eggs for breakfast now, and I can’t contain it anymore. Wheeee! Listen, it sounds as if I’m snarling now. I must be some sort of wild animal! It feels like there’s fur growing out of my back, and it feels like I’m hunching over into a ball, and it feels like my cry is turning into a long moan. It looks like I’m attacking the town square, now, and it sounds as if I’m gnashing my teeth and yelling scientists, scientists everywhere! All of this appears to me, like when I was a child and sat on a branch in my tree, and the roof collapsed.

"I turn off the flashlight the woods begin to eat me." -Matthew Rohrer, from Rise Up

Sensibility

I begin to hear a strange thumping coming from the engine compartment of my car, so I call Calvin Schmidt, the man who I gave that horse-racing-gambling advice to a few years back. Or it was investing advice, or crime advice. Either way, he accrued a large sum of money because of me. If you need anything at all, give me a call he said. I’m especially good with cars, and things of that type of mechanical nature. The phone rings for some time, and, eventually, I’m led into leaving Calvin a message. Hey, Calvin, it’s me, Gary. Uhh Gary Stein, from a few years back I say. Midway through my next sentence, Calvin answers the phone. Easy with the names he says, in an urgent, hushed tone. My phone may be tapped. What do you want, anyway he says. Well, my car has started making this thumping noise that seems to be coming from the engine compartment I say. Can you do an impression of the thumping he says. Uhh, well, it’s like ‘thuh-thuh, thuh-thuh, thuh-thuh’ I say. Just as I feared he says. Your car is having heart problems. Begin it on an aspirin regimen immediately. A moment of silence passes. Aspirin I say. Aspirin, yes, just into the gas tank every time you fill up he says. Also, try to keep your car away from stressful situations. Stressful situations I say. Yes, that means no highway driving, at least for a while he says. Also, when I hear the thumping, the steering wheel jerks a bit I say. Oh dear, oh dear. That is a clear indication of a nervous condition he says. I can prescribe a mild sedative, but that may impair your car’s driving ability he says. Mild sedative I say. Yes, just for the nerves he says. I can’t help but think that he’s speaking in some sort of code, because of the phone tap. We’re talking about my metal car, here I say. Your metal car with a heart condition, and a nervous condition he says, correcting me. Maybe you’d better come by and have a look I say. I’d love to meet your car he says. I hear it’s beautiful and sleek. Yes beautiful, and yes, sleek I say. Put in a good word for me he says. A good word I say. Sure thing I say, but I won’t put in a good word for him. I just don’t think he’s right for my car. He gambles, or invests money, or is involved with crime to some extent, plus this phone-tap business. He’s real sleaze. I regret that I called him.

"Skeleton, I thought, and stay very still, whatever it was will soon pass by and be gone." -Matthew Zapruder, from Come On All You Ghosts

Distribution

I want to go for a stroll, because the weather is particularly nice for this sort of autumn day, so I begin to climb the ladder out of my hole. I knew I was going up, because I was going towards the pinprick of light, and away from the stale, watery, fungal stench. That’s the only way of knowing, down here. I’m not sure if gravity works, down here. Every time I spit, it ends up hitting me in the face, no matter which direction I spit in. I climb and climb, but the pinprick never seems to get bigger, and the smell never goes away. I begin sweating from my brow, which inevitably gets into my eye, which blinds me, and which adds to the stench. Now blinded, and with the thick smell of sweat lingering by my nose, I’m truly lost, and all I know to do is to keep climbing my ladder. I’m going for a stroll, and there’s no looking back, now, and I all I can really hope is that they still have particularly nice autumn days up above.

"That's how I felt when I was eight years old & my home broke apart." -Mathias Svalina, from Destruction Myth

Known

I went to the roof of my building, where you immediately began trying to push me off. This building is a cliff I said. I’ll be crushed and you know it. This didn’t stop you. We rolled around, struggling, breathing heavily, for dear life. I then decided to turn the tables, and not only tried to save myself, but also tried to push you off. You’ll fall for forever I said. You’ll fall and be away. You grabbed the cement block that held the door open and hurled it at me. I ducked and felt it graze the top of my hair. The door shut. We’re stuck out here now, you lunatic I said. You charged at me as I charged at you. Our heads joined together in a burst of cerulean light that, from a few miles away, appeared on the horizon. The people of that town watched as more sparks grew at the edge of what they saw, and they got on their hands and knees and began weeping. Their savior was coming. It was foretold this way. Back on the roof, you had picked up a wrench, and I, a piece of scaffolding.

"In art one can hardly describe the device for catching the blue fox." -Andre Breton, from Poems of Andre Breton

Shock

There’s a man that follows me, constantly wailing. If I sit anywhere, he puts his mouth right to my ear, to wail. When I walk anywhere, he is directly a step behind me, wailing at the back of my head. He’s been doing this for as long as I can remember. When I try to speak to him, he just wails louder. Tears constantly come out of his eyes. Every night, as soon as I fall asleep, he stops wailing and watches me sleep. When I wake up, he greets me with the wailing that had been pent up, building in him as I slept. His morning wailing is also his most intense wailing. In job interviews, my interviewer always asks me who he is. He’s my Wailer I say. He’s a part of me, been so as long as I can remember. I have difficulty in finding, or keeping, any sort of jobs, so I can’t afford any sort of apartment, or other living arrangement. We often sleep in dark alleyways. I share my food with him, but he always gets it all over himself, like an infant. He doesn’t know when to stop wailing, and when to start eating. I can’t find a woman who will tolerate the noise, or who isn’t frightened by being watched during sleep. People constantly give me strange looks, and people often tell me how much easier my life could be, if I could just figure out a way to get rid of my Wailer, but he’s the most beautifully sympathetic creature I’ve ever witnessed, crying and wailing over each and every aspect of my life. He makes me feel as if my life was a feeling, one giant emotion, being felt in an instant, but lasting forever.

"Masked men with titanium pincers slide silently through the blackened halls." -James Tate, from Return to the City of White Donkeys

Heirloom

The doctor came into the examination room. I’m afraid we’ll have to amputate your leg he said. I looked down at my foot. But I only came in with a broken toe I said. These things are complicated; you have to understand he said. We’ll need to take your arms off, too he said. I looked down at my right arm, then my left. But why would you need to take my arms I said. There are many complications with this sort of thing; I regret to inform you he said. And we’ll need both of your ears he said. I used my soon-to-be disembodied hand and felt my left ear, then my right. What does my toe have to do with my ears I said. It would be too difficult to explain that to the likes of you he said. Just trust me that I know what I’m doing and that I’m looking after your best interests he said. I did. I did trust him. I don’t know whether this was a flaw or not, but I allowed that doctor to amputate all the limbs he saw fit, and my ears. What good are limbs and ears that can become part of some sort of complication at some sort of arbitrary point in the life of the likes of me? I’m very happy now, and I tell you this over and over and over: I’mhappyI’mhealthyI’mhappyI’mhealthyI’mhappyI’mhealthyI’mhappyI’mhealthy.

"It's great entertainment for everyone, a game, this game that is still a battle." -Paul Reverdy, from Prose Poems

Island

I am the foremost scholar in Arbitrary Thoughts in the world. My dissertation was called Potato Chips, Accompanying Dips, and The Accompanying Television Shows That Houseflies Prefer, which received the highest acclaim a scholar of my stature can achieve. I won a government grant and some sort of fellowship to spend ten years working on my craft, which I did, and what I learned was this: bicycles are skillful travelers, and don’t mind snails (literal and figurative) along for the ride; umbrellas make the best friends, both for raindrops and the umbrella’s user, but only after you agree not to ever stick it in the oven (umbrellas are deathly afraid of ovens); trees can cast shadows whether you need a shadow at that moment, or not, but, this has nothing to do with the sun, or the sun’s position in the sky (it more has to do with the atmospheric conditions of that day); deer avoid death by eating grasses and other foods, but still sometimes die at the hands of wolves, hunters, cars, or time (this also applies to feral pigs, squirrels, goats, bears, and giraffes); red pencils aren’t the greatest when making corrections, rather, surprisingly, green pencils are (purple pencils are fine too, although there have been some cases of aneurysm); and, finally, that ten years spent at my craft has left me more confused than ever before, and I feel smaller than the skin that wraps around me.

"Putting an end to the world when I lower my eyes." -Paul Eluard, from Capital of Pain

Ashes

“I remember the seamless waves

crashing over and over

my front lawn into

my front door all

over my front room.”

“I remember the feeling of all

the moths’ little delicate wings

breaking as they crashed into

my then larger ever larger

body I’ve shrunk.”

“I remember how the air felt

pressing down upon me as

I lay on top of a hand with

another hand on top of that

hand like a clap but I’m

the clap and it’s of air.”

“I remember the pinprick of

the trees falling left and

right all over around me

all because of me but

not me specifically

more my gravitational pull

not like planets but like

other celestial bodies.”

I remember finding the books

with this scribbled furiously

in the margins and the

other parts of the page left

blank to stare at me

and haunt my dreams.

I dream of white space

because it was me not you

or it was you not me

or there is no difference.