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.
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