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You Can

Posted on September 18th, 2012

The thickness of the rope wrapped around her wrists reminds her of anacondas or spicy shoelaces. And though destruction happens every day, she must remind herself that specials are not automatic. Smiles are arduously strained each second; bank tellers or McDonald’s employees survive off of grease puffs and sweaty palms. The salty taste on every bill is licked from our fingertips with each burp or fart from the riches. Though delicately is used too often, she had written that word down on every piece of paper she was forced to write. She delicately lights a cigarette. He delicately fingers through his razors. The dog delicately whimpers from its cancer. Light the match and save a forest/trailer park by utilizing population control. Her eyes are magnificent,…

Unafraid

Posted on September 6th, 2012

If I took one of the moons, wrapped it in my fingers, put it in a plastic bag, and stuffed it into my freezer, I’m sure no one would miss it. Except me. I would miss its dark glow and its telling phases. Sometimes, the moon will whisper to me and say things about the people. I dare not stare at the moon too long, but I do see it in their eyes. Sometimes, it’s like a sideways smile and when they turn their heads, I know how they want to play. Other times, it’s half-full, glowing with boredom and labeling mostly everything as unimportant. Then there are the full moon eyes, a light circle spinning in confusion. I take these eyes in, determine…

Lucifugous

Posted on August 31st, 2012

She told me to look at the darkened sky, to see the stars and the clouds and how they inched up upon one another as if they were trying to conceal the other. She’d say, they’re trying to be alone and in plain sight at the same time. I used to admire this habit of hers, her ability to stare at the sky in all its perfect naturalism and adore it. She tried to show me the constellations and teach me something, but I never had an eye for stars. She’d tell me to look at this one, watch how it connected to a centerpiece to form belts. I’d nod and pretend I could see what she saw. And I realized my life was…

The Zoo

Posted on August 19th, 2012

Only a dollar thirty, that’s it. That should tell you a lot before you even get inside. Buy your ticket, drop it into a plastic see-through container, give a bow to the attendant as she waves you inside, then all you can see are the trees and the gray-brick road. The map is clear with pictures of lions, tigers, and bears divvied out around the park. My friends, close behind, are wanting to see the zebras. Cause you know how every person has their animal. And their animal will be the one they can’t afford. The whole zoo is a giant round-about. The bird cages are the largest. The cat and dog cages are the smallest. Imagine a hamster and imagine that hamster growing…

The Heat Index

Posted on August 7th, 2012

The heat has become unbearable. The classrooms in the building, the Engineering building, have air conditioning. So they say. As you step into the classroom, you can smell it, the stench of 20 or 30 future engineers, waving their fans in their faces as if that will strike the heat away. Their faces are moist. Drops of sweat are buried in their brows for moments, then swimming towards the base of their necks. I have already imagined their bodies transforming into pure salt and water, changing the classroom into the sea, me talking to bodies of water, giving directions to waves. Some of them have large canisters of just water, which are refilled every fifty minutes during the breaks, then drunk quickly while class…