Issue 7, Winter/Spring 2009

Final abrupt— talking— to—/overself, by Meghan McNealy

honest-ism, once it is named it is a conflux, variant, mogul, hexagon, watch tower, kaleidoscope. you are sleeping again, in front of the television and you are not the only one who finds it odd the the sudden disappearance of these terrible sounds is disturbing, is oddly disturbing, and sleepless. another: your white hair is a mark of all this time gone by being the same thing all the time, listen to the way you say the words you say, where have you heard them before? possible there is nothing out there, but have you called first? possible there are only lights on, no electricity, no cables or breakers, no magnets or wind, only teeth in the sky. you you you and criticisms. fluff. quandary of a looping language belt on ‘high’ in the evening, late afternoon, early morning, haphazard. and boundaries? is it the crowded tangle, knotted flesh piles forcing boundaries to be inverted as rays from an elevator gun? is a meal a food wash and a poop comb? trust in these processes always comes out like this. OR trust the sudden occurrences, dreams and sneezes, where we can hang out and let it hang out and hang it out to dry or hang it out the man. jars upended, magic spilling on the floor, hearty sobbing from “missing something” what is missing you? where did that voice go? one says “happens” “happens” “happens all the time” and what is it with you? not sure how to fit in the book? between the pages, stilty! salty! rebar...inclusion...and settle. lipped mouth at the opening of some muscle enclave put this fluid back where it came from in another cell, another epoch, when stones... that is the word for “holy war” the word for “genocide” through calculated disbelief and hurling stones, mostly. for the record: you did not choose your ancestors, though it is likely that you have been chosen by them, some waste or by-product of all that possibility gone sour, all that love gone grey, and those elephants still drinking in a small pool that shrinks in the heat and gets rained down on them again, all over again. are you a heretic or not? answer the question. same words over and over.