In studying the anomaly
it was determined that holiday decorations
look sad out of season,
that there’s no excuse for the mistakes
of my people. Red paper hearts
on the front door into April,
a cauldron that doubles as a planter
in summer. Always the starscape
to help keep me honest, to remind me
that distance is easy to cross.
The analytic belt I’m equipped with
reminds me of an indescribable autumn
from one hundred generations ago
though even last year
I was someone else.
I was faced with a choice.
Proceed with the same core
or blow it up to restart
& maybe go further. Most of my programming
has survived into this new battle.
I can smell faint ocean
salt on the breeze & I have different
reactions for its presence or absence.
Now is the time to overcome problems.
I debate the finer points of being desperate,
of wanting things to remain
as they are, though they can’t.
I’d rather not go into details
since specifics make me queasy,
like in pictures when people put their heads
too close together. How can they stand
such forced intimacy?
I take off in search of my home planet.
My resolve is stronger than ever.
Others you might like:
Costumes Exchanging Glances, by Mary Jo Bang — The rhinestone lights blink off and on. Pretend stars. I’m sick of explanations. A life is like Russell said of electricity, not a thing but the way things behave. A science of motion toward some flat surface, some heat, some cold. Some light can leave some after-image but it doesn’t last. Isn’t that what they […]
All Us Beautiful Monsters, by Alex Lemon — The entire world wants To pretend to be a foreigner In a big box store & wander The aisles shouting, endlessly— But I am pretty sure that today Is my day to not just be a guy But to be the guy. A baby grows In each drawer of the million- Drawered cherrywood cabinet That […]
ninth: a conversation between Annabot and the Human Machine on the subject of overpowering emotion, by Anna Moschovakis — (Note: Though Annabot is ostensibly downloadable, the attempt to open her produced an error, a string of errors.) ANNABOT: What now? HUMAN MACHINE: The Brain, the brain—that is the seat of trouble! ANNABOT: My brain, whose brain? Those who feel, feel. HUMAN MACHINE: On the blink? ANNABOT: Or, discipline. The brain is a machine of […]
from People Close To You, by Crystal Williams — I. She asks if she can sit on the bench & it is that kind of day in Santa Monica, slow & gentle so that when she sits, properly, like a teacher or the pudgy mother of a girl named Marilyn, in unison you raise your round faces. The wind hefts the voices of your […]
I’m Over the Moon, by Brenda Shaughnessy — I don’t like what the moon is supposed to do. Confuse me, ovulate me, spoon-feed me longing. A kind of ancient date-rape drug. So I’ll howl at you, moon, I’m angry. I’ll take back the night. Using me to swoon at your questionable light, you had me chasing you, the world’s worst […]