Consider the spin doctors of the geo-electromagnetic field. Beware: the work they do is useful, their tectonic plates piled high with just desserts. Although in public they were fashionably dressed in camouflage, in private they displayed the vital signs of sons-in-law. Now ghosts are throwing things, the precious flesh is in a meeting and the walls of Jericho come down pursuant to the ministrations of a hundred-dollar saw.
In an altered state and in my haste to innovate I inadvertently erase more than was there. My pain and pleasure are attenuated due, respectively, to good and bad behavior, tulips are tiptoeing through me, I’m selectively negating, I reorient the random trefoil knot and blessed are the humorless for they shall purchase property in Florida for next to nothing. In absentia, you are no ancestor of mine.
In a past century, Heikki Huotari attended a one-room school and spent summers on a forest-fire lookout tower. He’s a retired math professor and has won two poetry chapbook prizes and published two collections. Another collection is due to appear in 2019.
Illustration by Aliya Smith.