by Darrell Epp
you can’t get there from here. i mean, by the time you cross the finish line you’re someone else. science has proven this. some die from the exhaustion of becoming. never mind being. never mind sleeping. there’s no redemption without some suffering but i’m impatient, i fast forward through the opening credits, the commercials. so many new toys it’s hard to keep track. there’s a sub- molecular shiver we share with the maples and even the rocks. are the gaps between the stars meant to be intimidating or inspiring? are we acid or base? what time is it? so what? i stood and watched as stan’s diner became a vacant lot, a 7-11, another vacant lot, and the future site of a glass condo tower. by then the sun had set, metallic particulates smudged out the stars and i needed some help with my jigsaw puzzle. start at the edges, work your way in. if i had a big hammer i could force everything into place. carrie come back with my missing puzzle piece and i’ll forgive the phone bill, the cable bill and the mint condition comic books you used as coasters.