hands off

leave things as they are
dead batteries strewn across the floor
a wet glass that gnaws a ring
on the mahogany table

no bargaining with my next inhale
might be my last exhale
stalking me through proteins & a high-octane chaser

it’ll be like this
until there’s no more

others’ll continue the tradition
an accountant yanking the trigger
the killer’s daughter braving cold green depths
resurfacing with a key
that fits some generic lock
in a funhouse across the desert

take all this
the impulse & boredom
with me when I go
wherever it is I go

when the time comes
I’ll have a better sense
what’s being said
who’s calling & why

beyond the houses & desires I can name
one more highway flowing out behind me

About the author

John Amen travels between a small apartment on the left bank of the Cocytus and a bungalow at the base of Olympus. He’s the…

Read the full bio

Issue 20 · May 2014

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