Unveiling the Dog

The fence trembles in the mangled dawn. Pre-disaster blues have got this whole town feeling like death row. No luck the wire cutters seem to be pleading at you. Bleeding all over the shop floor who said this wouldn’t hurt. Bless my heart it’s just another one of those days. Gravel road perched dangerously on the hilltop. Cold vastnesses somewhere out of sight. The junked-out mill eyes you like a crook. I am not a crook. Look at me with your heart. I am not a crook.

A Concerning Voicemail to Get from a Friend

Lately I’ve been hanging around gas stations. They pull me in like a planet tugs a flailing comet. You can stand outside and bark riddles at the other customers. Today I’m at the colonial Circle K. The wind speaks with a low drawl and I always hated the provincial. I like the federal: reliable floor plans from here to Mississippi, all one black tar highway away. At the register the cashier whirls her vowels around and I always hated the dialectical. Contradictions don’t resolve, they just corrode away. Like a dalmatian glacier. Like municipal pride. Like the word of God. Like potholes in a horribly long road.