Author Archives: istsfor manity

  Burn the Witch (from 30 Stories in 30 Songs) He sat eating what he thought was the best chicken noodle soup he’d ever had.  It was chock full of carrots, translucent slivers of onions, noodles, and hearty chunks of … Continue reading →

wish you were here, the insects are legion The dust, the arid heat, the vexillologists.  None of that made any sense there.  It was a tropical rainforest last year when we booked, and the defoliation and climate change left the … Continue reading →

Exiles In the Land of Kakistocracy   I.  A Conversation in the Time of Galamatias: Our salad days are filled with bitter herbs and intractable roots — Not so much a salad, but a melange Of weeds and thistles — … Continue reading →

bitchsplosion “Diluent,” he said at the wall.  Then: “Offing.  Fealty.  Procrustean.”  The wall said nothing.  It remained stolid in its sentry like “Reflection Gray” satin finish. Finish.  Finnish. Finnish:  The wall itself was not, but some fraction of a compound, … Continue reading →

hanoi bell (a black-out poem) when i was 8 they came from hanoi, in the sweltering heat, women delivering babies into the night. my mom smiled and said, “the narrow hanoi streets can’t pronounce ‘hello’ and neon lights laugh at … Continue reading →

notebooks She hated blank pages like she hated the blankness of her life. So she began by making marks – large, loose, gestural sweeps on the page. She then shifted from elongated serpentines to dense clusters of hash marks on … Continue reading →

  Two Views: A Cut-Up Bedtime Story (a found and a cut-up poem) I. X.’s home was a shambles: piles of amber eyes, clouds of fleas and other debris, the ritual heads against our legs; red bodies were discovered – … Continue reading →

  Sangfroid I-IV i.  The Ashen Landscape “He’s got what?  Days left?  I don’t want to be there when he dies.” “Sangfroid.” “I’m cold-blooded?” “You didn’t wish to come back to the village — to the sea?” “I see… a … Continue reading →

    windblown it’s not today anymore a bruised child  in yellow terry cloth flew past my window   windblown          barn bits  and green cornfield detritus speckled the turbid sky   it opened up and spat … Continue reading →

alight The oscitant oscillator was stuck at the 4 o’clock position, and the fan head was feeling unruly.  But it was the constant breeze on his bald pate that got his attention. “What the…“ The fan head was stationary but … Continue reading →