I Want To Be The Kind of Man Who Smokes
Slow down the shock so it sounds
like lightning, a wheezing kettle, space heat.
Fingers as tines stabbing at geodes, fruitless.
Down in the valley of discontent, a man
clubs his ball in the hole. A man kicks his ball
in the goal. A man throws his ball in the net.
A man runs his ball across the line and out of the park.
A man bones his ball into the sun and it explodes
in an ecstasy of fever and light. Two men volley
a ball back and forth, a midwinter tale. One man
victorious wears an item on his head, perhaps
a symbol, perhaps for smoke, for mineral light. The caves
are darker than ever before. Luminosity
is fruitless with all these fingers stabbing blindly
at anything dark, anything female. One no longer makes
paint from ground mineral, but buys. He pays cash and pours
the single color over the whole damn town. There is money
to be made, and lack-valleys full of holes and pitch.
Emily Brandt is the author of three chapbooks: Sleeptalk or Not At All (Horse Less Press), ManWorld (dancing girl press) and Behind Teeth (Full Court Books). She is also a co-founding editor of No, Dear, Web Acquisitions Editor for VIDA, and a contributing writer for Weird Sister. She lives in Brooklyn, and online at emilybrandt.com.