The Extruded Plastic Liturgy
Howie Good

Something there. I touch the top of my head to find out what, and my startled fingers come away with blood. Such signs and wonders abound, even when approaching the tourists outside a museum of useless and enigmatic objects for change.

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I cry at the movies and later that night dream I'm being lead through the distorted faces of the laughing crowd in cuffs.

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The wind is still as if it also is contemplating the dark. Quick, send the extruded plastic moon to this address, and because the ambulance driver will get lost in the maze of small, unlighted streets, send the moon out for an encore.

1996 © 2008