stories strewn about

when a
young man
reaches again
speechlessness
he can
reach back
to the artform
of broken
down car
parts
of verse
and
get his
hands
dirty

a crossing of
the street
vulnerable
nakedly
he stares
at the
ground
where he
places
sad steps

when people say
“you’re in a rut again”
does that include
sleeping
in the fetal position?

flowers
killed
by the cold

did
what
he was told

chairs with
rollers
time to kill

at least I
finished reading
another book,
he said

he sat down and
wrote a story about
staring out the window
and unexpectedly being
shot in the back
of the head and
how all his plans
were blown out
the window just
like that so
to speak
so it goes

life is beautiful
life is also slow
like stagnant water
for awhile
not
everything
can be
so exciting

a blank page or computer screen with words coming out onto it, a journal of events, emotions, all the guts becoming exposed.

he said democrat when he meant to say diplomat(ic) and slipped on a banana peel. the school was properly peopled all except for the rioting that continued springing up. “we shall change your student IDs into debit cards. hope ya don’t mind.”

he wrote about trying to write a story but got on the phone before finishing, and said, I’m going out of town for a few days, can you bring in my mail for me and feed the cats? the cats weren’t pleased with the whole debit card thing. they spoke in English and Chinese and said in English you better not be gone long.

he looked over at all the books he had left to read. he cursed his body for all the sleepiness, the sluggishness, the depression that fell on him heavy.

a pattering of bullets dropped. bombed area. plans have changed.

he left the scene but left behind a few fingerprints. they, the authorities, visited him later and asked how he kicked so much ass with what seemed to be merely microwave popcorn. I cannot give away the house secret, he said. and he broke out of there.

like in
the movies
fingerprints can
be removed
with a file

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