Angry-faced Woman in Fur Coat J-Walking
Just then Carey strides heavily into the backyard. She sits in a lounge chair in the freezing cold. Whenever I'm confused I run downstairs. Or do something equally impulsive. Carey sips moonshine from a mason jar. I run downstairs. She's translated a piece of the Prashna Upanishad and it plays incessantly inside her head. Mine too. I run it backwards on my way back up to the third floor. Glue seeps into my joints. I stick my head out of the dormer window. I see my neighbor peering over the hedge. He hollers, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,' and disappears. I toss the anvil from the dormer window and run downstairs. I pass the anvil and bolt the backdoor and onto the porch and kiss the anvil as it passes me. Carey looks up. My neighbor reappears. A car drives by. They know I know what happens next. Carey smiles at me. 'What wound?" I say before I can stop myself.
|
 
|
I am a software exec. and I do secret internet foo. I live near Boston, Massachusetts and spend a lot of time in San Francisco.
I began writing poetry a few years ago in a brave but ultimately feckless attempt to stave off a canonical entrapment breakdown.
I sometimes write with a pseudonym: Yorick_Nixon. I also write music and play musical instruments. I was a member of Boston noise band Inner Beauty and San Francisco improv combo Senator Buchanon. With the members of Inner Beauty I co-authored a pre-web internet published dystopic novel entitled "Skunk Angst".
Any spare time I have I read Shakespeare or listen to Bach. Bach seems to be the one thing all nerds agree on. I've lost touch with my culture. Though my friend Janet has turned me onto Cat Power. My only firmly held cultural belief is that Chan Marshall of Cat Power is kind of a babe. |
|