Puzzle by Liza
The headline read
“Prescott Valley Man Arrested After Trying to Shoot Moon with Handgun”
and I thought
“I know the feeling, man.”
It’s been eight-thousand-something days
since I first tasted oxygen
and now it’s become quite apparent that
none of us asked for
human consciousness
but yesterday I flinched when the car hit
my shadow
and now I can’t stop pinching myself.
I’ve been so caught up in the contest,
grasping for ways to cauterize the
loose ends,
after playing my role of God’s Freudian Slip–
crushing tact under the weight of my conscience.
There’s something to be said about enlightenment
and a lifetime of
unfulfillment–
aching empty on the doubt that
such skin could ever exist next to mine,
patient and kind
while I shake off the dust.
————————————————
I told God all about you and
she threw a bird at my window.
The light bulb flickered
and then shattered
and then I stepped on the glass.
I know where the first-aid kit is.
Another beauty from the way-back-time-machine and Flagstaff’s Missed Connections. The first four lines just grab you and don’t let go until you’re reaching for the first-aid kit.
