Impossible Passages #93, Glen Armstrong

Impossible Passages #93

My socks are damp and knees are melting. I would welcome a CAT scan or a bee sting. No one has fallen in love with me for days, and the neighbors’ dogs have grown complacent, perceiving me as more of a late summer breeze than a threat.

The fortune tellers never speak of flying cars or parties on the moon. A gold coin on the pillow. A cure on the horizon. They look up from their wicked cards and offer condolences.

I foresee rocks and breaks, hot sun and governmental thugs. I would welcome some other vision, some other view. A few of the dogs have started to take me seriously again. Sometimes they hand me numbers that they have written on gum wrappers.


Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has a current book of prose poems: Invisible Histories. His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit, and Cream City Review.

Glen Armstrong recommends “Lust” by Gary Taxali.

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