Blindfolded ponies pull steel carts of stupendous weight while being tormented by slaughterhouse flies. I let it all in, all the red dots, all the cries of pain, all the sickening smells. In reaction, faceless functionaries have revoked my membership in the Cloud Society. I just pretend it didn’t happen, isn’t happening still. Clouds passContinue reading “A World of Pain, Howie Good”
Category Archives: Prose Poetry
Secret Circus, Howie Good
I would suck on a peppermint as I went about my job. It helped mitigate the boredom. I carried a retractable ruler on my belt for measuring the passing of time. And when I found what might be considered under city law a “tree of significance” – a tree that because of great age orContinue reading “Secret Circus, Howie Good”
Martyrdoms, Howie Good
1Still anxious, lonely, unoriented two years after coming to America, my grandfather’s only brother, a barber by trade, killed himself by leaping off the 59th Street Bridge. “What would make someone leave all this?” the family would uselessly wonder. His body washed up just a block away. We are always somewhere. 2What a sight itContinue reading “Martyrdoms, Howie Good”
