Yearful tearful of days swirl away like
moths in the night and I find myself still
orbiting without a reliable storyline so I tune
into the next 24 hours of tooth & claw in this
other dimension that pokes at my ears with its
four-note motif of crawly dissonance &
dangerous bongos. The slip & slide of
binge, each two-act shadow box skitters
after that spot in my mind where Breton
claimed contradiction surrenders, each
supernatural chamber piece a funhouse
mirror, endurance run that forgives for
awhile my whack-a-mole life.
Rusty Truck 