The higher I climbed, the darker it somehow became, & despite being surrounded by woods, the sound of traffic zooming on the Northway still reached me – a dry, hacking cough, a string of vomit. I stopped to piss against a boulder, & even then there was a poem, leaf shadows lined in gold & wavering like half-heard words.
Self-Portrait in Second Person
You hate the shape of your face, just like you hate the circumstances of your birth. The pain, chiefly philosophical in nature, would be the same whether you’re left- or right-brain dominant – & why you hesitate before stepping through doors. There’s something you need to convey, something pale green & amorphous & that only victims might know. Other people’s idea of what constitutes a story comes from the Bible. Yours relates to animals & shadows, a momentary lapse in chronology during which dogs killed by cars get up & romp.
Howie Good's latest book of poetry is The Complete Absence of Twilight (2014) from MadHat Press. He has several poetry books forthcoming, including Fugitive Pieces (Right Hand Press) and Buddha & Co (Plain Wrap Press).