The Question
  • Wide awake at 4:00am and unable to sleep
    for the booming silence and the deep
    damage this silence has done
    to everyone,
    the duplicitousness all
    the way around — himself included — he rises
    naked from the floor on which his bed
    is made and sits down at the kitchen table.
    The pewter moonlight casts a pall.
    Earlier, he’d nicked himself shaving and he bled.
    Dry blood still there, but the dark disguises
    it. He writes what he is able,
    what’s in his head:

    On learning last week that a friend
    you loved suddenly expunged it months ago,
    in late October or so,
    and then reinstated it … why and when?

    But he crossed that out and re-began:

    Coincidence or no?

    He was having difficulty letting that question go.
    Odd how it all came
    down to this thing
    and the mention of a rabbit’s name.
    Two coincidences in a row?
    The fall grew cold and dark
    and bloody leaves fell soundlessly in the park.
    The birds took wing.
    What were the odds? One in five?
    Ten against? The damage pulsed: a thing alive.
    Retreat into sadistic silence and do not communicate.
    The betrayal was too staggering to contemplate.
    The cold, meanwhile, did not abate.

    His confusion was very great.




    January 10th, 2018 | journalpulp | 8 Comments | Tags: , , ,

About The Author

I was born and raised in the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado. I've worked as a short-order cook, construction laborer, crab fisherman, janitor, bartender, pedi-cab driver, copyeditor, and more. I've written and ghostwritten several published books and articles, but no matter where I've gone or what I've done to earn my living, there's always been literature and learning as the constant in my life.

8 Responses and Counting...

  • Dyane 01.10.2018

    Harvey, apparently, could stop clocks.

  • Oh, really!?

  • This Harvey can’t stop clocks, but he could scare a hungry dog off a meat wagon.

  • Imaginary friends can be whatever the Imagineer engineers.

  • I have been inside this very thing. Nicely crafted. I recognize the fraught and kinetic cadence as my own nocturnal gnawing and gnashing.

    An aside – I prefer my shit whiskey with sidelong glances and a moment or two of wistful longing. Imagine my disappointment.

  • The Answer: Dance

    Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting
    I’m a lonely boy
    I’m a lonely boy
    Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting

  • The dance is life! Death where is thy sting?

    They muted the music in Dog’s “Lonely Boy” video, by the way.

  • P.S. Thank you for dropping by.

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