I kept getting up to look out the front window, take a leak, play with the cat. Each time I returned, the interrogation continued: “When you knock on a door, do you knock just once? Do you prefer your newspaper be printed in Braille?” I shrugged, or howled, as the question dictated. Empty scraps of foolscap fell periodically from the sky. To this day, I’m still surprised that there’s no “e” in lightning.
We think by feeling. Yeah, every day. At least that’s my theory. Stars come out above the yellow of government buildings. K almost blew his cover, a tentative spy on a dubious mission. He has left a message for me to find. I can just about guess what it says, something like “If you don’t sleep, you can’t very well dream.”
The German physicist credited with inventing the semicolon cupped it with tenderness. “What is two plus two?” he asked and immediately answered, “Fish!” Everyone nodded as if they understood. The next day brought only more rockets fishtailing across the sky.
Howie Good‘s latest book of poetry collection is The Complete Absence of Twilight (2014) from MadHat Press. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely, who does most of the real work.