
BOMBING IN ALEPPO by Cory Bennet
Like the Ship of Theseus—was it the same skateboard if the deck was different? In my mind it was part of a lineage.
Like the Ship of Theseus—was it the same skateboard if the deck was different? In my mind it was part of a lineage.
Fall asleep. Wake up to darkness, the sound of tiny nails on cardboard. Find the mouse, dead for real this time, before work.
You, waking from dreams of dinosaurs, exploring deep in the ocean, worlds where Care Bears and Popples are real, listening.
Every hour or so, we fell silent to watch metal beasts bellow and tumble into the night sky, forgetting about the bug bites we collected on our ankles.
You mutter “Fuck you” under your breath at his daily counting routine, for the apathy it shows for the hell the world is girdled in.
He would sometimes repeat it under his breath. Chops, have to have chops, have to have chops.
I liked existing in peripheries. I imagined myself stuck deeply in mud and drowned and decaying but still there, still part of the river.
Mom counted five full-length films of him sensually posing in Late American Empire formal wear in different promote-me positions.
The next morning police were baffled. But then again police tend to be pretty clueless in general.
The train didn’t derail, though, when this happened. Would’ve been cool if it did, maybe. Anyway