A mob passing by your window chants, “Fuck the clown! Fuck the clown!” This is constantly happening. You must change your life. Did you witness the shooting? Do you have any information about the suspect? Everyone is dropping gear, panicking, jumping over tables. I have no clue what’s going on. When I look in the mirror, who’s there? Yeah, a killer angel wiping his bloody anus with handfuls of grass. So you may at times need to close your eyes. These were my rivers, the ghosts of birds all that’s left.
Howie Good is the recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his collection “Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements”.
Your One Phone Call 