MetanoiaIt was a Saturday when I first felt the burning inside.It was late May, sunny and dry.The willow across the street thrashed in the Santa Anasas I first glanced down at my armsand saw the magmarising in my veins.I held my breath.I thought cool thoughts.Cold thoughts,but to no avail.(Too arid.)By evening, the inferno was in my stomach,legs, feet,and it was not long after,when I walked through a fieldof yellow wildflowersand realizedthat they could no longer save me,I combusted.
Halloween on a Work DayIn the parking lot,a man smokes a cigarette,stubs out the butt, walks,full-body dinosaur suit,into the office complex.
A HistoryA HistoryBring the trees to the hollow,said the ghost, and the fishdid what they could.Each carried a seed, stashedsafely in its belly whenthey began their journeysacross the world of highuntamed blanket-streams, theprimordial. The first treeswere very much like their fishmothers and fathers; they had scales,for one, and were smoothand leafless with delicate webbingwhere there would one day bebranches. Delivered to the originalsoil, which lay at the exact pointthat was farthest from everything,they threw down their roots.They burrowed into the river’smuddy floor and pulled it upward –a process that stretched for eons.Before the totality of the earthwas introduced to the air, it had neverknown anything but wet and it gaspedwith ease of breath. Soon (approximatelyten million years later), the trees beganto lose their scales, growing crackedand wise with the assistance of the sun,a newfound ally, to the astonishment ofthe moon, who was still
You Don't Need to UnderstandYou Don't Need to Understand, You Only Need to ListenSome nights, the vacancy of sleepgrows nervous under your weightand there is a stirring in the void.It is the sound of a little world lost,murmuring, begging, crying,howling in the immediacy of the dark.Can you remember?Remember when words smelled like pine cones,names looked like endless holes in space,and anger urged the nonsensefrom our throats with bombast.Remember when we built sandcastlesaround our voices, lowering the bridgesonly for the worthy few, who could navigatethe whirlpools of our words.Remember when we did things rightand the ovations sent us running to the corners,folding ourselves over and over like paper,smaller and smaller, until the praises stopped.Remember when we dreamed ourselvesinto the fields of nothingand the silence droned on and onall through the night.Remember when death was a hazethat made our stomachs sinkin the dry heat of summer,as unfathomable and inevitable as grow