The Screaming Sheep
Orogeny
Everyone assumes that paper always defeats rock. Do the math! This life is dangerous. I was taught to never begin a sentence with “and” or “but” when I really should have been taught to never begin a sentence. Or maybe I just misheard the instructions while the volcanoes in my head erupted. How would you describe me to a stranger? Maligned? Bereft? A hovel made of plywood and tin? What a story it all makes – if you change the details around. Even a dictatorship ends eventually, but a story is sort of like a self-replicating virus, a bee with pollen caught in its fur, a voice that flees to the woods and lives as a bandit.
All proceeds from Howie Good's latest book of poetry, Fugitive Pieces (Right Hand Press), go to the Food Bank of the Hudson Valley.