The green detective is haunted by dreams. When an apple falls, the earth moves to meet it since movement is the complexity of mutual attraction. Weight is a reaction, not a thing unto itself. A sink full of dishes is an empty apartment, a pool of spilled milk, or a carton of painted eggs. It is impossible to represent the fractured structure of imagined reality, said Ben, reading a flyer on gravity passed out by Ernst Mach, before he went down to the cellar for a can of soup & chipmunks chewed his feet. She heard his fitful cries & stood to set a book on the shelf, rinsed her wineglass in the sink & set it on the rack to dry.
Thelonious wrote lyrics inside a moleskin while sitting in rush hour traffic. Downwind from the steel factory there’s a river of cats teeming with bacteria programed to eat the minds of rats who go dumb with happiness. Ravens above the billboard lady. Siamese tennis shoes hung from the telephone wire tremble as a girl tells her man she’s unhappy – sitting in the bathtub, she sticks a finger through the buttonhole of her new man’s acid washed jeans, 1983. I am not alive yet, but I will be. Jazz always returns to the tempo & jimmies itself holy, like the swollen cheeks of a blue cherub, lips busy on a traveling horn.
-- Jim Davis is a Master’s candidate at Harvard University and a recent graduate of Northwestern University. His work has previously appeared in Bellevue Literary Review, Portland Review, Seneca Review, Midwest Quarterly, Santa Clara Review, RHINO, and California Journal of Poetics, among many others.