And other
faculties change and fail. I
fail, therefore I'm
a white man in America; I conceal my weapon because I know the deep
state leaks secrets. There's a cloud over this administration,
pregnant with rain, and it's been seeded by the opposition, those
who, according to the
president's son, aren't even
human. They call it my
political rage, but I also beat my wife. To be “depressed about”
suggests there's
content to your illness, but content comes after forms,
filling in its crevices like zeros a box score. There are no hits on
this grid other than the shot that took down the second baseman. Our
vocabulary did this to us,
confounding a real game with an attempted massacre. The coin of the
realm is metaphor rendered as fact. “He mowed him down on the base
path.” My son has his video
game turned up; I hear gun fire from below. PTSD is fantasy after
fact, an imagined bear inciting terror because
you once saw a real bear. As
I child hiding under covers, I assumed all sirens came
for me. I ask my son to turn
his gun fire down.
--17
June 2017
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