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sparkle + blink 56 2014 Quiet Lightning

artwork Adam Carlinadamcarlin.us

Out the Window by Charlie Getter forthcoming in How to Arrange Physics and Geography to Your Advantage (seven7h tangent).

The Constant Cap by Jon Sindell first published in Pithead Chapel, is forthcoming in The Roadkill Collection (Big Table Publishing).

book design by j. brandon lobergset in Absara

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CONTENTScurated by

Chris Cole & Evan Karp

featured artist Adam Carlin

MONETA GOLDSMITH Idolatry 1

CHRISTIAN PHIFFER Synonyms for Sensitive 5

KARLA CORDERO A Brown Girls Blues 7

SIAMAK VOSSOUGHI Sixth Grade 9

MICHAEL COOPER Uncity 13

CHARLIE GETTER Out the Window 19

ASHLEY WARREN A Newsletter 27

ANITRA APPA Healthy Stuff Like That 33 Quarantine 34

JON SINDELL The Constant Cap 35

PAUL CORMAN-ROBERTS Reprocessor 39

QUIET LIGHT

NING IS SPONSORED BY

l a g u n i t a s . c o m

QUIET LIGHTNING

A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet Lightning is to foster a community based on literary expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on the first Monday of every month, of which these books (sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.

Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is currently:

Evan Karp founder + presidentChris Cole managing directorJosey Lee public relationsMeghan Thornton treasurerKristen Kramer chair

Sarah Ciston director of booksKatie Wheeler-Dubin director of films Kelsey Schimmelman acting secretary

Sidney Stretz and Laura Cern Meloart directors

Lisa Miller, Rose Linke, and RJ Ingramoutreach directors

Sarah Maria Griffin and Ceri Bevandirectors of special operations

If you live in the Bay Area and are interested in helpingon any levelplease send us a line:

evan@ quiet l ightning .org

1M ON M T A

G O L M S M I T H

IDOLATRY

A new exhibition opened this week at the Smithsonian

called Objects of Devotion: Images & Other Seemingly Harmless

Things That Kill People. Or something like that anyway.

Its true, it seems, there was a time in history when a group of people

who called themselves iconoclasts believed that images carried

the potential to do harm & that if you stared too long at a work of art

you would become enthralled & risk falling into a life of sin & idolatry.

I admit Ive often fantasized about a language that could bring about similar effects. The only comparison I can find today for the iconoclasts are

the so-called street poets who practice & die by their craft,honest to god, in the streets, hence the name.

If youve never had the pleasure of witnessing such spectacles

2as theirs, here is what Id advise you to do: take this poem

when you wake up tomorrow morning to your nearest caf,

& swallow it whole. Before long, you will begin to choke (either on

these words or on these scraps of paper, whichever are stronger by then).

If you do not choke, you should pretend to chokeat least

until a crowd gathers around to help you (sizeable, one hopes)

at which point you should promptly shew them away; unless

of course there is a beautiful girl present just your type

(blonde, not brunette, with plenty of whiskers). If there is no such beautiful girl present, then you

should continuechoking or feigning choking until you find one. This part of the process can often take years, decades

even.Do not despair: once she does come along, simplypoint to these words, or to these scraps of paper in

your now yellowingesophagus, as if you had only swallowed them

yesterdayat leastuntil she helps pull them out of you one by one with her bare hands, using force if necessary.

Moneta GoldsMith 3

What comes next is easy: she will fall in love with you. & when she asks years later inevitably she will ask,

they always ask why you did all of this back then & just for her, do not lie to her! Tell her point blank you have long dreamt of a language that carried the power to

do great harm,one that might kill someone even. (Its just that this

was the first time it worked.)

When she diesright there on the spot, quite likelydo not despair!at least

not for too long. You can still visit this poem at the Smithsonian,

where it will be encased in a humidity-controlled vitrine, behind bullet-proof glass

for its own protection but also, of course, your own.

5C HR I S T I

A N C H I C C M RSYNONYMS FOR SENSITIVE

after SHIRA ERLICHMAN

exposed, open,

this-is-me,

raw, tender,

alone, sticky, enormous,

sweaty,

but-this-is-me, over share,

permission, boundaries,

burden,

blessing untamed,

weight,

rain storm lover,

squishy, sore, dirty windows,

willingness, present,

distant, me.

7K A RL A C O R M M R O

A BROWN GIRLS BLUES

There is a demon between my eyes, a fanged beast, a nightmare in shadowed veilswho rips root from bone, some maniac killer of

ancestry, a cyclops stitching brown girl nicknames, el Diablo dressed in America.

There are wounded sparrows between my lips, a choir in shackles, broken beaks & rusted

tongues,new scars behind feathered backs, caged-throats, an orchestra screaming privilege please,turns parrot color mocking a white kids tune.

There is a kitchen-knife between my breasts, a blacksmith dimple, a village of spears howlingto mother moon, a razor lump, shaman chants between hillsides, blood on silver coin, a wealthso rich in earth, men are always hungry to settle their

flags.

There is a brushfire between my hips, a savage dance, matches shoved in sick

children bellies, cigarette torches & kerosene chimneys,

8 a tumble weed on candle wick, lava ash & ghost cry,

how dangerous to burn alive before the fall.

There is a cemetery between my legs, a war bleeding over river banks, tombstones for crippled grandmothers, lost bodies in high grass, sacred stone & orchards swaying gentle,bullets, mud, & cracked palms & prayer.

9S I AM A K S

O S S O U G H I

SIXTH GRADE

The other girls were going to the store after school to buy candy and stand in groups close to where the boys went skateboarding, but she told them she was going home. They werent the same boys who had been saying those things to her at lunchthose boys usually played tennis after schoolbut she wanted to go home and tell somebody that the whole thing was miserable, everything about it, because of what had happened when she had tried to tell Mrs. Loda about it.

She crossed the street in front of the school and she walked by herself down 83rd street. She walked slowly with her heavy backpack and she wanted to walk slowly, she was in no hurry to get home since there wasnt really anyone she could tellher older brother was away at college now, and she didnt even know if she wanted to tell him. It almost seemed like something you werent supposed to tell anybody, because those boys said those things like it was practically their job, and it almost seemed like they thought they had to do it. She didnt feel that way about anything at school, except the way she thought she had to try hard with her schoolwork, and she didnt know why they had decided that her job was to listen to them.

10

Nobody said anything about why five boys were saying those things to one girl, they just treated it like part of the world, and the only way she had to make it not feel like part of the world was to make the world very small, and so she didnt stop to pick any blackberries from the blackberry bushes along the side of the street, because that was the kind of thing that would make the world seem big, or even nice, like back in third or fourth grade when her brother would come to pick her up from her old school nearby and they would walk back together.

If the world could stay small, then she could stay small, and then maybe tomorrow they wouldnt see her, it would be fine if they didnt see her, it would be fine if they didnt say a single word to her, she didnt care if they were the boys that a lot of the girls liked, she didnt care if they didnt notice her at all.

And she wondered who she was supposed to tell now, now that she had tried to tell Mrs. Loda and she had seen her face turn sick and sad like that. Was she supposed to tell Mr. Scott, who didnt even know who she was? If she did, she would have to tell him what Mrs. Loda had said, and that was too miserable to repeat, because you were supposed to feel like if you were a girl, you could tell a teacher who was a woman, and the important thing about her would be that she was an adult, not that she was a girl too, or that she used to be a girl too, or some kind of mixed-up combination of that.

siaMak VossouGhi 11

And as she walked she felt like crying and she felt stupid for feeling like crying because that was another of the things those boys would laugh at her about, and she thought of how mean it was to make fun of somebody and to make fun of them for crying because then it seemed like the whole point was to make them feel small, and it would be one thing if she had ever tried to say she was bigger than them or anything like that, but she hadnt, and instead they had just decided last week that it was going to be her, that it was going to be her hair and her eyebrows, and she had never thought before that she would like to have straight blond hair and thin eyebrows like Seline Cowgill, she had always liked her curls, but they made her wish she looked like that just so they would leave her alone. Although the truth was they made her feel like it was her, like even if her hair was like that, they would still laugh at her, because the things they said went so far inside her that she didnt think her outside would make that much of a difference. After all, Mrs. Loda was an adult, and even that didnt make that much of a difference, and when she really thought about it, the only good thing about what Mrs. Loda had said was that at least she knew that it was more than just a problem with sixth grade, and she knew that after the crying feeling went away, she would feel strong about it, because it was always a strong feeling to be mad about more than yourself, and she wished the crying feeling would hurry up and go away, so that it would at least be gone by the time she got home so that her mother wouldnt see it

12

on her face and ask her about it, she wished it would hurry up and leave and to speed it along, she tried to think about what a nice day it was and how maybe the next time her brother was home from college they could walk along the street with blackberry bushes together, until finally the thing that did it was that she decided that instead of thinking about the boys, she would think about Mrs. Lodas face, how it had done something that she hoped her face would never do, how it had broken up into something that was barely held together, and she knew that when the strong feeling came, she was going to want to do something so that nobodys face would do that, nobody would have to come outside of a classroom and hear a girl say what shed said and then say to her,

You just have to ignore it. They make fun of me too.

13

M I CH A M L C O O C M R

UNCITY

They held a fashion show on the morning of our discovery of the trombone muteIm in my shower curtain frock and she regal in the netswe use to dredge the lake stareat each other a cross the hook gouged Formica tableas if we have nothing to say The milk in our cereal so cold it leaves icebeards on the lips of our bowlsOutside our lamb brays at the on-coming mailman as if our lives depended on knowing of his approachthe wind hurled prow swings leeward to run south to break up the slip ice of the cat walk

14

ubiquitous chain link fences each rust spot a fingerprint leading up the rungs of the tender power lines we climb the earth was just some vehicle for their work outside the palms make much more sense when you realize that they are a grass they networkshed their fronds for antlers and 10 X scopes they boost the cell signal of the collected good shot out along the highways each of us a Diaspora of use a voice is the keen edged

instrumentality of I broken machine clamber up the poles at night among the cranes and engines of translucent might clinging to my vestigial naivet even in the foothills the red light of the city stoops winged like some ambient predator

no tequila could drown I strapped up here run soulless with the long-haul diesels peering through this night scope of blackened delight

Michael cooper 15

black labrador runs out between the cars barely see her as I skid and she goes under my bumper the way I like

to curl around my family and listen to them sleep performing the Mueller maneuver Dr. Shoar assesses his victim with profound sleep apnea judged by the possessions of the heart the panting the feral start stop cries of Black Dog from shiveringspeakers each moment stuck in the throat of now rises like the heat signature off my

tires pushing the earth away hold oncovered with my coat she is someones I carry her home soak-curled and shaking in fetal position and half asleep I feel Black Shuck clamber down into mynest his bones my bones we laugh we laugh we

16

the shared phantom bone keeps my dogs barking at the Black & Whites muscle cars and little boys filling the loafers of their pixel sprung selfie taking fathers a still life and the half thawed burrito in its plastic wrapper makes up its own disclaimers to dress itself in dont touch anything its all evidence a typo makes a text threatening Im sleeping

with your mom again the desperate seeking of the billboard for your latchkey milked and each waiting for their turn with the pneumatic hammer I just want to see him on the trail again Kyles hip pocampus as art displayed the never quite dry splash of cola on drywall

Michael cooper 17

o Uncity you have no right to die we inside out landfills the garbage scow land bound overgrown with sunflowers lists to port becomes our veranda trailing vines seaward creeping the horns will scream until the last car batteries bleed dry she folds in my arms whimpering in her shock you stand

in your rebar and concertina wire disguise what I loved so much gone from your eyes each unsheathed and rattling I struck her when driving blind look at our seas leaking oil into animal form each of us drilling our hard-case surmise under each promise wilted lay among my refuse braid the Walmart bag into your brambled thatch lets curl together around her and listen to her final breaths so she knows we are here for her

or let down your coiled copper hair at last outside the city wails long distances to its long silenced pod how could she be all of these beings on the morning of our discovery

19

C H AR L I M G M T T M R

OUT THE WINDOW

for __

Out the window is Argentina

If only my window was like a window from Redmond where you can click something

and it opens somewhere

anywhere

but theyre not that way in the real world

my window is dirty

Im on the second floor of a sinking ship and like a rat Im sniffing at the ropes

thinking about getting off like a rat

memories are scenery

20

passing past a passing window

and out the window is Argentina

a place that is justa memory

or a dream but more exactly

the memory of a dream

because what can Argentina

be for me

if not only, a dream

if not, only a dream that I struggle to remember

so often it felt so close but now even the horizon

is out of touch BART strike and all

and how many horizons are between me

charlie Getter 21

and Argentina?

It wont be easy, youll think it strangewhen I try to explain

how I feel when the mist

rises off the pampa on a spring morning that is in fall for melike today.

A season so appropriately named this year

One of those falls, which is a fall from grace

and when I do so I do it comically hard

a long protracted tumble like a cartoon character bouncing off every rock

every bramble head over ass

thats my fall

no graceful collapse for me

22

no dramatic passing out from emotion

to be held up in others arms no,

rather

a long tumble down a cliff thats too steep to stop on and yet too gradual to

fly away from

the Andes have steep mountains one is Mount Fitzroy

which back in the day was the name for

a kings bastard

People die on Mount Everest all the time

but usually from exposure because you lose your oxygen

and orientation and way

so if youre a great athlete, and if

youve planned well and if

charlie Getter 23

the weather holds up and if

someone doesnt mess you up and if

something doesnt fall on or

out from under you

I know thats a lot of ifs

times those ifs by the number of attempts and that equals a lot of deaths

that said climbing Everest is more an

athletic, organizational,

meteorological and lucky achievement

than a test of pure mountain climbing

unlike the kings bastard which only a real mountain climber

can get up or even attempt and

its in Argentina at least the east half

24

and I can see it in Argentina out my window

because out the window is Argentina

wide stretches of green and greener

and cows lots of cows

cows with style munching grass with bravado

brave cows and gauchos

both knowing what a good steak is and willing to die for same

(well, one more than the other!)

and the cities glow where every street is lined with cafs

with black iron tables and trees with golden bark

and in the dusky half glow

charlie Getter 25

someone appears with a viola

and then everyone finds someone

and tango happens and candles happen

hanging from the tree branches

and birds sing in trees singing sadness

and everyones heart breaks and they love each other because they have to

but Argentina is out the window because the wind blew and Argentina caught the draft

and wafted away and I can watch it

floating on the wind and a breeze blows up,

underneath it

26

and Im jealous that Argentina

is so airy

and finds its way so easy

so after watching for a while

I close my window and sit

on a chair

27

A S HL M A W A R R M N

A NEWSLETTER

The Dockliner

Ahoy from the St. Croix Yacht Club! May 1, 2010

After another long, grueling, and anti-depressant filled winter, summer is finally here! All aboard! For new members to the yacht club, welcome to our third annual newsletter, written by me, Donna Warren. For those of you who havent met me yet, I am the First Mate of Sojourn, the 37-ft yacht run by Captain Mike Neitzel. Most of you are familiar with Mike for his loud mouth, questionable manners, and wicked serve on the volleyball court. Hopefully those bad knees and chicken legs of his will keep him in the game for another summer. He shocked everyone who attended the Cruisers Rendezvous last year when he and his team, The Boating Bachelors took first place against the Houseboat Homos in their annual volleyball competition. Now I dont mean to sound derogatory, but speaking of homos, I want to inform every one of the new lesbian couple that just joined the yacht club this spring. I dont have anything against the gays, because until now, Ive never known any. But I have been deeply offended by the butch one,

28

whatever her name is. She continues to come on to me and I am not amused. Fellas, I suggest you keep your wives close this summer. Shes like a bull dog in heat and I dont trust her for one second.

Anyway, this is an exciting year for Mike as he will be our new beach captain at Catfish Beach, exclusive to members and guests only of course. As most of us know, Captain Mike runs a tight ship, so we will be enforcing some new beach rules that I hope all will comply with. First off, children under the age of 15 will no longer be welcome to play in any volleyball games. I know this seems a bit harsh, but we all remember what happened to little ten year old Thomas last summer when he sank that serve right into the net with a tied game of 14 all. Naturally, Mike lost his cool, tackled him in the sand, dragged him into the water to drown him I assume, and ended up tripping over the Ericksons anchor, resulting in a very bad sprain that left him out of the game for the rest of the summer. But dont worry folks, your kids can still participate in different ways. They are welcome to stand on the sidelines to retrieve the balls when theyre hit by some drunk-blonde-amateur into the water. We would also like them around to fetch us cheerleaders some cold wine-coolers.

The second rule we would like enforced is a designated smoking area. Now I know that the disgusting habit is still legal and that we are all outdoors enjoying the same fresh air, but thats the

ashley Warren 29

pointmy fresh air is being polluted by you and frankly, my allergies cant handle it. Ive got people on my side with this one, including Lynn from A Lonesome Ride. We propose that smokers will inhale their cancer-sticks only at The Point where the beach ends and the water comes in from all sides. No worries, the water is very shallow but use caution as there are drownings reported there every year because of the many drop offs and strong currents.

The last rule I would like to enforce is a personal one, but Im sure many wives would agree with it. I will no longer tolerate the attire of the new river-rats who joined the club last summer. (How they even got in to the club is beyond me.) I would appreciate it if the girlfriends of these alleged members wouldnt mind wearing something more than a string bikini that barely covers their nipples. As we all know, Mike and I still arent married, after nineteen years mind you, and I dont need his eyes wondering over to some fake breasted tramp as I am way too invested in this yacht club to get dumped now. Heaven forbid I have to spend my remaining summers locked up in my subsidized apartment with all the hillbillies and thugs running from the cops and breaking into my place to get their hands on my prescription pill collection.

Now, on a lighter note, Mike and I have some very exciting news! No, no, were not engaged. If that were the case Id forget this newsletter and just rent a blimp that announced our engagement while

30

it floated above the entire river! He did however commit to something big And that something is a brand new boat! We are the proud new owners of a 39-ft Cruiser yacht coming soon to a river near you! Unfortunately, our new, yet modest yacht may not be turning many heads this year since Mike decided to go with the smaller model for its sporty appeal and shoe-box sized kitchen. Dont even get me started on the size of the closets. I tried my hardest to get him to go with the 44-ft since he insists on parking the boat next to the Burns who have always had a bigger boat than us, making ours look like something that could be operated by a kid with a remote control. He never listens though and when he finally decides to use his boat for entertaining, hell see what Im talking about.

Well to wrap things up, Id like to conclude this years third annual newsletter by sending out my deepest condolences to the Alrichs who have recently filed for divorce. It shouldnt be a surprise to anyone that Bill Alrich was finally caught having an affair with Christine Bradly, the middle-aged single woman from Joy Ride. I always knew that he was two-timing on his poor wife Karen, but when I announced my suspicions at last years Spaghetti Western Party, Mike just told me to shut my big mouth and then dumped me again for the third time that summer. I would like to apologize to everyone at the Afton Marina who was involved in the police questioning that night. But I dont think I need to explain why I refused to leave a boat that might as well be half mine.

ashley Warren 31

On a final note, Id like everyone to keep my family in their prayers. My eldest daughter Katie, who Im sure you all remember from her embarrassing behavior at the Catfish Beach Party last year, has recently been readmitted into treatment for her addiction to heroin. I know the Thompsons are going through something similar with their daughter and her alcoholism. Also, my only son Paul just had a baby boy this Christmas! Unfortunately, he refrained from sharing the news with me, so please, pray for his insensitivity as well.

One last thing: If there are any new bachelors to the club, my youngest daughter Ashley is still single! And straight, so dont get any ideas Butch. (At least I think shes straight.)

Alright boaters, lets have a fantastic summer and Ill see you on the river!

Sincerely, Donna Warren

33

A N I T R A A C C A

HEALTHY STUFF LIKE THAT

Youre away now. For 4 months. I said I wanted to just see how it goes while were apart. I do want thatits nice in some ways, to have my trees and my bed and my stories to myself again. And Ive never believed in long distance when things are new, maybe at all. But if you fuck some beautiful French milk maid who gives you the best head of your life, I willI willwhat? I dont know. Get wasted and go out with the goal of fucking someone else forthwith. And make some idiot show me how to give better headI dont think my pressure is consistent enough. Ill imagine the yoga poses she can slip into and her awesome music recommendations and internally Ill be a raging hypocritical bitch. Be a seething, silent, Im so cool with it jealous that youll sense but never actually ask me about. Healthy stuff like that.

34

QUARANTINE

Youre the first person Ive ever had sex with when I was sick. Not almost over it sick, not warbling with a sexy rasp sickin the throes of it, mucus producing, almost certainly still contagious sick. First time, I didnt cancel to stay home and nurse myself. (Im a very good nurse. I let me do whatever I want.) I thought I would at least call it a night early, would feel gross or you wouldand I did, but I guess not gross enough to stop either one of us once we made it to my bed. Whiskey helped. And cough syrup, that aphrodisiac. Pile of crumpled tissues on the left side of the bed. I feel awful and great.

35

J O N S I N M M L L

THE CONSTANT CAP

Ive been pelted with peanuts, bottle caps and bananas, and jolted in the aisle by guys who look innocently skyward but smirk to show that they did mean to do it. In Boston last week I got bumped at the urinal and sprayed the wall. Fortunately my wits and reflexes are viable though Im seventy-one, and I was able to redirect the flow where it belonged. This was fortunate, for if I had sprayed the bruiser next to me, I likely would have suffered a beating.

Ive had some of those.

Its like this. As the tone-deaf relation of some team official finishes strangling the last note of The Star Spangled Banner, Ill announce, in a friendly tone,

Cant fault herits such a wickedly hard song to sing. Simple honesty compels a young man nearby to grunt agreement with the contrary old fellow who refused to doff his cap during the Anthem. Hell scru-tinize me and Ill twinkle back. If I detect a gleam of curiosity, Ill chuckle and say, A little odd, to make a patriotic ceremony out of a ballgame. Most folks shut me down at this point with, Thats my country youre talking aboutsir, though a glance should suggest that Sir has walked this land

36

far longer than they. Others toss off non-sequiturs: Well, baseballs the classic American game after all. True, Ill rejoin. Which is why the compelled obser-vance of a patriotic ritual makes no sense in the land of the free. One young man raised his beer to that sentiment in Milwaukee. Two beers later, he told me that his great-grandfather organized brewery workers in the Depression and got his skull cracked.

I told him in a confidential hush that I dont really want to get my skull cracked, but that I dont intend to crawl towards the grave on my belly, either.

The North Side of Chicago was loads of fun. Hes just hiding his baldy! a Bleacher Bum quipped. So I raised my fedora to reveal the snowy waves that Gloria ran her fingers through for forty-five years til we lost her last winter. Loudly I proclaimed: My young friends from the land of Studs Terkel, Im not hiding my head or anything elseleast of all my beliefs. They were all in fine spirits on that balmy afternoon, so I fired my bulletpoints as we bantered through the day:

* Its a deadly dull song. * Its militaristic. * Nobody can sing it. * It cheapens the Anthem to play it at one-

hundred-sixty-two ballgames a year. * And most of all, folks, heres the main

thing. A spindly young man with stringy hair and gleaming gray eyes, the sort of guy youd picture

Jon sindell 37

studying advanced physics or founding an anarchist commune, looked up at me with his chin on his fist.

The essence of America, the very reason we love this countryis freedom. Is independence. Is the god damn right NOT to stand for the Anthem at a damn baseball game on a Thursday afternoon against the damn red Cardinals of Saint Looey! For this I received a cloudburst of claps (Its always good form to dump on the Cards).

The South Side? Not ducky. I attended a day game for safety, but a battery whacked my head just the same. Just a double A.

In New Yorks Citi Fields, a literary agent asked me to write a memoir of my AntiAnthem Ballpark Tour. Yankee Stadium went about as expected. Two huge guys squeezed into the empty seats on either side of me and pressed against me with jovial menace. No problem. My extensive knowledge of Yankee history lulled them by the third inning, and in the sixth, one fell asleep dribbling spittle and beer on my shoulder.

I worked wonders in D.C. A lesbian waitress, an NRA lobbyist, a Democratic congressional staffer from California, and a uniformed Navy vet from Virginia led a chorus of jeers that drowned out my effort to point out the irony of suppressing free speech right here in the nations capital. Hey, I proclaimed during the seventh inning stretch, with arms spread wide to accept their acclaim, you should thank me

38

for bringing you bickering folks together! This was right after God Bless America, which I had just condemned as the impetus for the second coerced patriotic display of the daywhich, furthermore, compelled allegiance to somebodys god. Liberals and conservatives alike pelted me with foodstuffs, and I left Washington as The Great Unifier.

There are five cities left of the scheduled thirty. Miami is dicey, for I cant figure out how to ensure that I sit among migrant Jews from New York and not anti-Castro Cubans. Texas could be fine, for despite their jaw-thrusting patriotism, I think theyll respect my Texassized bravado. My chief fear is Atlanta. Listen. Up in Cleveland, the land of the Indians, I got a five-stitch cut in my lower back from a penknife or something while penguin-waddling through the concourse after the game. Why? Because I had supplemented my anti-Anthem routine with a rant against their racist icon, the savage Chief Wahoo. The toleration of bigotry is not in my game-plannot nownot at this stage of lifenot after so many years of ignoring it.

So when they start up with that god damned racist tomahawk chop, I will say my damned pieceyea, right there in Georgia, the starting point of The Trail Of Tears, where the Devil went down.

39

C AU L

C O RM A N P R O B M R T S

REPROCESSOR

They have always been fuzzy non-descript creaturesdarting around the edge of insomniac peripheryholographic Gollums stunted nattering Graysunstillborn poltergeists

They never there when you feel them watching you; always flicking at your eyelidsbetween the decades;

& now chill drop bosom to bowelupon arriving at the gatewayto your own personal wormhole

the realization that you are no different than they are;the revelation that you are one of them;

40

that you belong to thembecause all these rounds later you still dont know who you are.

this sounds like: A spiritual path of Mulligans; Do-oversOlly olly oxen free Whoa! Hey! Time outSweet bottomless mimosas of forgiveness

when you cant shake the nagging feeling that the person you wake up with every day isnt on point with the person you feel like you should be waking up with every day which is still no excuse for molding your blank, gray slate of fuzzy etherness into the shape and shade of a slumming vampire.

CUT CHOP SLICE SEVERCUT CHOP SLICE SEVERCUT CHOP SLICE SEVER

GATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHER

Okay fine fake it one last timebut I promise babe

paul corMan-roberts 41

somewhere out thereis the final line.

Begin to decorate what you need the rest of your time here to look like.Not want. Need. take the timeto know the difference.

I would still love you even if your lifestyle transformed your strawberry honey into a dust bunny living among the rocks in the corner of my eye.I would still fantasize about your wispy non-substantiation.I would still touch myself in inappropriate places & wonder what that would look like & I realize because it is real

and it is trueand it is love

that I would not care what that would look like.

You cant believe how sorry I am; that awkwardness is just another one of those things spiraling into infinity.

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42

GATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHER

I suspect real love is when we take all the permanent ink we can gatherand draw in each others wrinkles scars liver spots back fatand stretch marksbefore the world does.

& yes plz dont repeat the odds; I know all too well how staring at themmeans soul death so I dig in deeper.

your wormhole dance will always only beyour wormhole dance but I still tryfor convergence for engagementfor random synchronicity for long term intercourseon every possibleplane a totally differentkind of milestone

paul corMan-roberts 43

high club

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GATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHER

Aha! I caught you now you phantom rodentyou slithering ball of dull opportunistic silveryou loa out of time out of space out of your elementyou come here you & cuddle in my arms let me stroke youbecause it still dont change a damn thing.

Like a snowflake no one of our dances is exactly the same so why do we invest so much time convincing ourselves they are? It only makes the existence screw down on us that much harder.

Sincerest apologies world, but we wont be able to join in your hungry purgatory on this day as we have conflicting plans with ourselves.

I wont lie to you darling.

44

The existence never hurts less.So why should we keep doing it to each other?

CUT CHOP SLICE SEVERCUT CHOP SLICE SEVERCUT CHOP SLICE SEVER

GATHER GATHER GATHERGATHER GATHER GATHER

GATHER

GATHER

GATHER

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