Bradley K Meyer writes from Dayton, Ohio. He has adventured through forty-four of the forty-eight states he acknowledges as legitimate. His favorite animal is the Virginia opossum. He feigns international recognition having read in Canada once and having, on a separate occasion, sold a copy of his book of poetry, Hotel Room (Vostok East Press, 2013), to a Polish woman.
I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
The leak in your breathing/ tube makes a cartoon squeak./ It takes two nurses, silent/ as nuns, to place you/ in my arms...
If I have already/ gone insane/ but I want to get/ crazier yet,/ what’s my move?/ Go outsane?
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