Beginnings

The day began simply enough,

cigarette in hand, bitter black

coffee, wadded up tactile pubs,

two tablet devices after I was

jettisoned from the warm

welcome bed. You were there

too, sipping your herbal tea,

glancing about for an early

tin of biscuits. You wanted to

debate the meaning of [our]

existence (as though there may

be any), but I couldn’t at that

moment for so many reasons

never to be understood. Still,

outside the birds sang – no,

warbled – to each other and

we as audience –  words of

great wisdom in clouds of

the finest smoke. A mob of

blue jays descended on

a hapless bird feeder and

the light started to resemble

glistening peaches and cream.

If there are lessons to be

learned here and gauntlets

left to run, if you

become

attain

maintain

retain

remain

ARE

holy, the seeds will be taken

right from your hands.

Drive – III

In order to be with her,

I’d fly from L.A. to Dallas,

high over endless desert,

blue skies blinding,

releasing, then blinding

once more.

In order to be with her,

I’d fly, over and over again,

to Nevada, Georgia, Ontario,

Wisconsin, Oregon, Maine

and New Hampshire

over and over again,

each time holding my

breath as though with

that simple motion, I

could again feel love. Or

just feel … something.

That’s been gone,

was jettisoned,

and replacing it

was my burden, my

challenge. How to

go on, what choices,

where the journey,

so with few answers

I drove on, hugged

the earth, traversed

new realities,

sought new meaning,

any meaning, some

purpose Sartre would

approve of while driving

here and yonder past

husky cornfields and

viscous pastures,

past city skyscrapers,

through college towns

and onto university

campuses, toward

federal labs, national

parks, art galleries,

cathedrals and casinos.

 I drove at

• Albuquerque
• Boulder
• Tucson
• Pittsburgh
• Athens
• Sedona
• Chattanooga
• Syracuse
• Cincinnati
• Reno
• Gatlinburg
• Asheville
• Baltimore
• Berkeley
• Charlotte

and more places

than any other list

could ever hold,

in order to

locate

find

search

learn

grow

know

live

finally be

at one

with myself

in my selves

as myself.

Lamenting

Bulbous clouds stream by

the scarred window. What

happened down there?

Did shiny political rhetoric

slide down your legs again?  

How hearts are broken,

the many different ways.

You cried out in your sleep

again last night, steel toe

boots dancing through your

head, reaching for me.

It’s raining now and no

one cares. But after this,

does it really matter?

Palmetto trees stand

guard outside. He died

last night, actually 6:25

AM today. Did you hear

the gunshot? Loud as

hell, really echoed. Did

you hear her screaming

his name? She knew and

couldn’t do anything.

You didn’t hear? I’m

glad you could sleep.

Some might have felt

a little guilty having

gone down there with

that note. But I don’t

question that. I just

wonder will you cry?

Will You?

Dog Paradox Equation

Two dogs ran in front of the SUV ahead and the lab took it viciously to its side at 50 MPH. There was an ugly thud and then the dog’s hideous screaming. The SUV stopped hard while the lab struggled to right itself, side ripped open, intestines pouring out. That driver then went unthinkable, cluelessly backing up over the dog as I honked and honked. Right then I wanted to kill that driver. ‘Cept it could have been me or anyone and I knew it.

The slashed-up dog dragged itself to the side of the road and tried to throw itself into the bushes. Why’d I’d leave my snub-nose home? The dog wouldn’t recover, wouldn’t live. I didn’t want it to suffer, but what to do? If I went back, grabbed my piece and ended things, I’d be “saving” the dog but what trouble awaited if anyone misunderstood? Nix legal troubles! But if I drove off, how long would it suffer? If I tried to forget things, I’d be a bastard and even more tortured. But doing nothing? Frozen there stuck in a dog paradox equation.

I decided to…

No, instead I called Sandi and cried like a goddamned baby.

Scott C. Holstad has authored 60+ books & has appeared in the Minnesota Review, Exquisite Corpse, Pacific Review, Long Shot, Wormwood Review, Chiron Review, Santa Clara Review, Southern Review, Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Kerouac Connection, Processed World, Dream International Quarterly, Sivullinen, Nidergasse, Gangan Verlag, Ginosko Literary Journal, Ink Sweat & Tears, Hidden Peak Press, Mad Swirl, Bristol Noir, PULP & Poetry Ireland Review. He holds degrees from the University of Tennessee, California State University Long Beach, UCLA & Queens University of Charlotte. He’s moved 35+ times & currently lives near Gettysburg PA. 

https://hankrules2011.com.

X: @tangledscott