black hole
physics at
the dmv
2022-11-23
this morning
back to work
off to grind
the burrs
off student
graphs &
lines poxxed
& pocked
with ideas
half-assed
& three-
quarters full
another year
older &
none the
wiser &
at fifty-two
I still think
this is what
I did with
my life,
so many
days lost
chipping away
at sentences
impossible to
diagram & my
breath catching
at so many
traumas laid
bare on
blank pages
2022-11-22
call for mr. hemingway
It was dark. I liked the dark. No one could bother me. I sat there. I was cold, alone, in the dark. It wasn’t easy to sit there, but sit there I did. I poured myself a drink. Gin. I always drink gin. No ice. The gin slid down my throat like a gun. If it had been a Colt, I would have pulled the trigger. Instead, I had another drink. The phone rang. I let it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. I shoved the goddamn phone of my desk. Who the hell wants to talk on the phone when he’s drinking a gin, alone, in the dark? No, what you want then is another drink, then another, then another. Or maybe you want some good looking gal to walk through the door, pour herself a drink. Maybe you make a little small talk. Maybe she tosses her drink in your face. Maybe you like it. Maybe you think too much. So I drank my gin and sat in the dark, the phone a silent tangle on the floor. Outside a car honked. Goddamn cars.
2022-11-21
It was the woods but it was not the woods. Night sounds swaddled dying embers then the clearing was claws and maw and roaring. In the wood-dark with dagger in fist I leapt towards the screaming. Behind me Hafghar swore at his axe and stumbled into a muffled embrace. In moments it was over: Freysa dead, Narthgale’s hand mangled, my shoulder shred, an owlbear limp against a sapling. Hafghar’s laugh split the air before he turned and vomited. I waited for the shivers. They never came.
2022-11-20
screw you, bill
this is
just to say
fuck you
for eating
the plums
I was
saving for
breakfast &
now I
have to
eat oat-
meal again
goddammit
2022-11-19
call for submissions
new literary journal seeks
poems about your mother
but not those kind & pays
in guilt & copies; masochists
& second daughters encouraged
to apply; please see our website
for examples of work we’d
rather not see again, especially
from you Arnie Papf because
that obsession with cherry
pie filling is quite disturbing
& as we have told you at
least twenty times your
work is not suited for
our publication but then
not much is so everyone
else take your shot
2022-11-18
boom
Nobody move. We’ve taken hostages. We have guns. We have dynamite. We have a bunch of C4 wired to blow. We have coffee. We have donuts. We have a creeping sense of ennui. We have no self control. We have headaches. Somebody call the police. Somebody call the national guard. Somebody call the governor and tell ’em to stop the re-runs of Hee-Haw on Sunday afternoons. We’ve got permanent records. Just ask Principal Linksy: we’re too tough to handle. Look out, here we come.
