My neurologist asks me many questions
To make sense of my brain: What day of the week is it?
Where are you now?
What is your home address?
(What if I am homeless?) What state are you in?
Where were you born?
What did you eat this morning?
How many fingers am I holding up?
With only the press of a button
the pillows rise on a gentle slope, his eyes on mine.
The window is open a crack, the way he likes,
light and breeze dimple the gauzy curtains.
His lips move on the moistened cloth,
but he does not speak.
A star sticks to the nape of his neck
like an interplanetary kiss. His first
day in Farmersville, suspicion rises
like hair on a cat’s back. Folks do not
notice transparent, green eyes or
the odor of outer space he emits, but
talk of the star spreads fast as a missile.
Drunks at the Mahogany Bar want
to aim guns at the stranger who entered
town as if on a wisp of cosmic magic. Continue reading Asset from Another World by R. Nikolas Macioci→
I have weathered wolves and deities, fought horrors dreamt and real,
kept my word and my identity, though the system bade me fail.
I have championed my brother, taken succor with the weal,
sourced my secret tides for good and ill, borne my pain beyond the pale. Continue reading And Weariness Is My Name by Ron Sanders→