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Dan Hightower


…swerving into the spin I rammed the railing holding me sane, bursting through the papier mache linings of translucent hopes and dreams, clouded by this need to fail, this need to rise below what consumes me, this holy trinity of lethargy apathy and enmity, the gasping fins of piscine recantations withering with each atmosphere of sordid delight, bemused by the bemoaning begrudging be wildered wildebeest wavering none in his ample prose, the pose of angular vivisections aiming like inanimate barrels barreling without feeling into a bleak path of purpose, pure pain and painfully pure in the purity of the aim, degraded desires bounce as they waltz toward me, shining and shimmering without faulty footsteps to perpetuate the potentate poem, or elegy, prescribed by scribes to be scrivener’s one shiny day this dangerous disdain, crustaceans and octopi are my family tonight, the mold of their souls melds with mine in a ritualistic dance meant to harm and inflict the infliction already growing, manifesting, changing in me, the grotesqueness of my deeds perpetuates in the gravity of my words as well as the insouciance of my will to bend even a little to catch your fall from disgrace, angel of mine waiting to be saved, or at least savored as you are eaten by the primordial angst of a millennia of struggle within self to delineate the spirit and the flesh, to arrive somewhere new after taking the same path, to ram the railings until we fail again and again to kill the impetus of our frown….

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