Endless WondersToday my hand is glad. Thunderheads, like Zambonis, scour the barren prairie, but it’s not really nothing. There’s lichen and time and the spore-fat shadow of death. I am red and smiling in ice for a minute, thanks to a pill. Best practices: I try and try and try till I climb out backwards! I yrt till it hurts. Neighbors’ crutches, stacked best for burning. Air swooshes up through the fire, and from it, moths emerge. Their white wings shaggy like a bleached football blanket. I’ll cover the winter window with it. Thank you. Shave and shave it off. Musk from an old faithful gland keeps the candles roaring till they woof. When will the lighting end?
These Happy Golden Days“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she said. “Guh—” I began through my teeth but she slammed the car door. The neck brace wouldn’t let me turn my head, so I tracked her in the rearview till she disappeared inside the travel plaza. “Teleportation,” I said to her outline still hanging in the air, then it fell to the blacktop like a broken string of beads. I did not look at my phone or fiddle with the radio. I wanted to be entirely surrounded by her absence, by the air of her absence as the car warmed in the sun. I wanted to think about her when she was not there to mess it up, to steal my idea of her and swap it with a real her. Idea her would never try to kill me, idea her was always beautiful and kind, real her was running through the parking lot, a red-faced man chasing after her, yelling. But in both the idea and real: her pink hair whipping in the wind.