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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume IX, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..
..:: OTHER ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I

 
Poetry


Recuperation
Mitchell Krochmalnik Grabois

 

I'm upgrading my protocols
in multi-gigabyte downloads

that correspond to
the pixilations of my lungs
after their fourth bout with pneumonia

It's been raining for more than a week
The teepee burners are damped down
Wisps of smoke struggle to escape
from the smoldering redwood trash
and the mill is temporarily shut
All of us are somewhere
between machismo and disability

The local Indians look like drowned cocker spaniels
as they walk from Thunderbird
and Mercury Marquise
into the Wal-Mart

They wave at me
they salute me
and invite me for a recuperation drink
at Vance's Log Cabin

but the Cabin's been condemned
and they know that
so why are they fucking with me?

This is not the usual iLock sequence
says my doc
This is not what we mean by
Error 1703
This is not what the screen is supposed to look like
This is not what your lungs are supposed to look like

You are not one of those obscene beasts
who live in sulfur vents
in the
deepest obscurities of the
Black Sea

So stop acting like one
dammit

 

 

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