Howie Good

 
 

Dirge of the Dying Year

My first thought was, “Run!” Others chose suicide. Soon I was stumbling around like the bad kids
who huff glue. Mothers dumped raw meat out into the street in protest. Sirens began to woo-who,
woo-who. I was in a headspace that was pricked with stars I couldn’t identify, 50 by last count and
all of them always promising to return to their wandering orbits. Now what do we do? There’s just
too much in the workings of the world that’s hidden and unknowable, even by a person with an
education. And that person was standing where the bullets began to rain into the limousine. We’re
living in a boisterous age. Velocity is advancing everywhere, the walls covered in flames and the
flames behaving in ways no one thought possible. I’m afraid of human beings. We run things in
the forest while the wolf isn’t around. Eyes that don’t want to close at all times ruin everything,
pretty much every word. The sadness will last forever. I can’t remember now why I ever thought
it wouldn’t.

 
 

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