Albert Flynn DeSilver
I deal in lingua obscura, don’t we all. I set the equinox on the table between us, see how the changes arrange us. Look at us now, a soft pair of harmless giraffes. I have no working goal but to goad forth the god imprinted in my breathing! This is a glimpse of the inside, a weaving of tweed trees. This is not. Towhee, he hops and pecks. There. There is now, outside, then gone. The seed is embedded, the balm is applied, the implication subsides. Do you feel any older? And yet the breath flutters on, dressed up as a snowy egret. So now, you are no closer to the Dopster than when you began, nor a half-wit the wiser.
Yellow rivulets come somehow pre-cambrian, pre-genius, Jesus what am I saying? I am 'genuity incarnate, respect thee! I am eagle-bone flute in the shape of a woman. I go figure, and you? I follow every flow and babble as if it were my last, and yours. Flower in the driveway called Calypso drives the eye of me crazy. Crazy is right, and why I’m fresh out of work, flush with disability at my side. Mold grows on my mind as I write it into being a thing. Curtains graze my elbow as if amazed certainty was to be written in their wake. Ingenuity comes to me in small lavender fits beneath the staircase of my forgetting. This is my inkling, what I hock the magnesium coils for, for the simplest of patterns to be burned on the cornea. Words have gone cornering my mind, I think in order to break free of their meanings. The most minimum reminder keeps my inner blindness at bay.
Oh jolly, jolly me. Happiness is the species buried deep beneath me. Got shovel? Till I start counting breaths like tips, my life is forever belabored by the laps my mind runs around regret. I’m hostess to the most grasping of doubts. Doubts bobbing around in my blood like an armada of Coast Guard boats lounging heavy in the White House kitty pool. Currently I'm pooling my resources together for a new birthday suit—wanna swap skins? Wink wink, goes my piggy bank, oink oink goes the hollow echo of emptiness trapped between my ears. My confusion, a carousel I carry under arm. My role was in payroll, calculating my unraveling. All these words of frustration add up to wasabi peanuts. Optimistically speaking, I did just finally get laid—off, that is. My severance pay is the severed head of my latest boss.