At this point, I have lost track of most of my losses. I try to dwell on fingers and names, the little silences I can take a nap in. They never last that long, and I brew coffee when I rise. It all sounds dire, taking on a doom and gloom that reads biblical to some, more like dystopian science fiction to others. There are more birds tattooed on forearms than actual birds in the sky. Horatio only dreams of a giant robot capable of smashing his enemies, and what clutters heaven and Earth is comparatively dull. Every ring has rolled away. Each vow has been broken. Last week I left my middle initial in a taxi cab. Rather than let the documents that require my signature pile up, I shred them. I build myself a nest.
Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three current books of poems: Invisible Histories, The New Vaudeville, and Midsummer. His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit, and Cream City Review.
Featured artwork: Wrap Me Up Deadstock silk fabric, tulle, and acrylic on wood panel Makiko Harris was born in Breda, The Netherlands and after stints in Tokyo, Boston, New York and Sonoma, CA now lives and works in San Francisco. She studied Philosophy and Studio Art at Tufts University (B.A. 2011), focusing on Aesthetics, Philosophy of Art, and Feminist Philosophy.