Devin Gmyrek

Raw Deal

I just front flipped off a thirty-foot bridge.

Nah, that was me ten years ago.

Twenty years ago I was running naked

through the streets of my small town.

Thirty years ago I was planting my painted

hand unconsciously on a poster board

signing my name I knew not why.

Before that I was just a chrysalis

with a single pack of matches

mumbling to myself Being and Nothingness

plotting my next move like this cloud

cover rushing forth then retreating

before the whistle blew, the gun shot.

Interpreting the small talk of nihilists

and narcissists became a hobby

though I lobbied multiple times

to be paid tiny golden ducklings

a plethora of miniature models

which I imagined might give me insight

into why these seasons weave

so seamlessly into one, whichever sun

currently backhands your forehead.

I soon forgot my forefathers or anyone

with two first names, so try to please

remember these artifacts for later study,

perhaps a dissertation on the desolation

of certain nocturnal birds, or a monument

for whoever invented the term Duh.

I only began to understand the lay

of the land later, when they blindfolded

me and drove me way out into the desert,

I thought to conduct something sinister

but in fact only to show me a flowering cactus,