Volume 27, Number 4

Escape Artist

Ambulances roam the roads in anticipation of frequent car accidents. Canaries are there, and there are lemon trees, and they bring smallpox and hundreds of words, none of which rhyme. The sky gets so dark sometimes that shadows from all over the world seem to appear out of nowhere and then leave me with eyes engorged with blood. Today yet another woman said the darkness reached up her skirt. Point me to the doorway to the river. I just want to sit and play guitar to the goldfish.

—Howie Good