Brad Rose

I took the westerly pill and tried to get out of the wind. You said, All we’re doin, Ray, is driving around the block, again and again. One burning earthquake, and the trees, like trapped animals uncaged, head south for the winter. Am I the only one asking questions around here? As if it’s accomplished with razor blades. Each obstacle creates a desire.  Bone yearns for flesh, sea for sky. Yesterday, a body was found, no signs of struggle, limp limbs relaxing in the calm quantum. A ghost wind listened as it swallowed its scream. The tame mouth seeks a feral kiss. You have a taste for carrion.

Decluttering my personal pronouns. If I had my way, I’d hammer the water back into the pipes, too, but that would be an uphill battle. Fortunately, I’m sworn to secrecy, so I sleep on knives to avoid any possibility of a stabbing. I use a hotel pillow because in the back of my head there’s a diamond that absorbs all the invisible light. It’s beautiful, like heaven or an ant colony. The down side is, when I get up in the morning, I’m lightning-prone, so I have to shift my weight from north to south, but at least it gives me an opportunity to practice my lying skills. Have you noticed that you have to get really good at lying to yourself in order to get better at lying to others?  Of course, that’s the price you pay for participating in a simulated emergency. I hope the fire station across the street doesn’t burn down. With this 40-day deluge, that would be a miracle, although, under all this water, I won’t hold my breath.

Who’s to say that these good, honest houses, painted swan-white, aren’t shivering behind their warm, worried windows?  Although a rally has been planned to promote neighborly disharmony, the angry rabble’s chants are likely to be shouted in alphabetical order. Of course, each thunderstorm at first appears as an ersatz electrical problem. The wild chemistry of the lightning’s musculature soon hammers the correct answer into place.  Consider the benefits of noise: although everything is made of inflected electrons, the percussive light is much too pretty for its own good, especially amid the riot of the architectonic clouds. In fact, the faster I go, the more time happens all at once. There’s a story whispering inside my blood.  Only the dead are silent enough to tell it. Of all the times you imagine you’re going to die, you’re only right once. 

Can’t tell if I beat the death penalty or if it was a tie.  Everyone knows it’s a free market, so you can execute anyone you like. Big data indicate that ninety percent of those who were neutralized were not the intended targets, but it’s safe to say drone fans were not disappointed.  In a pre-posthumous phone call, authorities said no one could be reached for comment. Then, the line went dead. Let me be the first to offer my congratulations. You’ve been personally selected for free trip for one! I’m sure you’ll enjoy an all-expenses paid, cage-free, Aztec weekend.  Yes, there have been reports of bloodthirsty human sacrifice, beating hearts ripped from still-conscious victims, decapitation, skinning, and dismemberment, but I can assure you, those who object to death make the tragic mistake of trying to imagine what it’s like to die. This sweepstake means you no harm. Reliable sources tell me no one will be disappointed. You can always be re-cremated. Hurry: this life-changing offer expires soon.  Anyone may enter. No one can withdraw.