Brad Rose
Safari
I’m on safari. Outside my body. Unprotected. No SPF. You take your chances. May be an algorithmic mistake. I’m pursuing an animal-less circus. Butterflies taste with their feet. Left to my own devices, I’m ones and zeros. Incendiary ones. Iridescent zeros. I’m swimming in circles. y solve for x? Is love math or arithmetic? I’m in the pampas grass. I dream of hawks. I’m crying hawk tears. Now death. Death is a mountain without a climber. In the distance, you can see the mountain. Close your eyes. Imagine a spiking graph of interest rates. I remember the last words our invisible enemies said, A compressed spring always bounces back. A window is camouflaged by its view. Of course, it’s nobody’s fault, if you can’t see it.
