An Order of Operations



When he went in, sorry, under, out of vanity, out of anger at his current beauty for hinting at such huge power. So he went all elective on it, on his Crow’s and cleft and high bones. In there, he grabbed the marker from the doctor and started circling on his own, designating whole ambitious swaths for removal from his face. Despite the doctor’s protest he put himself down, hit hard at that gas, looking, while still on the edge, at his engineer, making sure he knew to follow the lines laid out for him.

Waking, he saw; perfection. Sharpness, then high and wide shelves of bone barricading his eyes from his long, vulpine cheeks. He was crystalline, dangerously beautiful, and he bore it, for long years, crippling passing people with it, them submitting to it, their instincts taking over and bending them into a bow.

But eventually, that wasn’t low enough. He got used to them, pitched at the hips, seeing the tops of their heads, and he’d fed himself and his vanity off of it, even sated at times, rich and fire-eyed from the nourishment, but, as was his way, he wanted more. So, some dark raining midnight, he returned to that theatre, once again wielding his own pen, this time attempting not to derive beauty but derangement. He wanted to see us on our backs. So began, as we have come to know it now, The Revision.




by Jamie Thomson




So I go and I ride horses with no hands The horses
they are the ones without the hands
As for me I’m not some total full-blown dunce
I’m doing much better since the procedure
thanks for asking With all these additional limbs
I can now firmly hold everything I love at once
and so close I think it is good for the things I love
to see precisely the other things I love Roast beef
for example its presence should not then presuppose
the exclusion of bocce balls from the equation My hands
are so full! I have so much of things!





One fine morning there were birds
in every tree and they were singing
so many songs and I was singing too
and right on key and my onion was alive
and well and filling the room with her sweet
onion smell and the ducks all there in rows
asleep in their eggs and downstairs shining
in the light or rather the source of all light
my toaster! my pretty green toaster!




*For Alistair

Under a fingernail a man grew until that fingernail
broke apart into a pile of its own dust The man
wiped the dust from his forehead and entered
his life Of course he did not thank the fingernail
for what it had done So I came and I wept
for the fingernail I swept up its dust into a cobalt
box I carry that box along with the other boxes I carry





In that line to have my candle lit I said How lucky
to be one of the chosen few standing here in line
with my little white candle beneath the trees
who are like strangers or some very old friends
All was dark I imagined I was finally departing
per my most urgent wish This happened
many years ago in the room with no walls
Remarkable how long they kept us in that room!





Now in the backyard in the pit I am chopping up
the mice because the mice were being
naughty It is my absolute favorite chore
I don’t even think anymore I just let the knife
do all the work while I daydream
about beef until night when I can close my eyes
and dream the Eternal Dream of Beef
unimpeded To a beetle in the grass today
it would appear the rain has turned
to blood It would appear it is raining blood today




GAME #17

I am taking my left leg and sticking it
where her nose was because her nose
was needed to replace the toe in his teeth





When a flower dies I cradle that flower
high upon the marble steps It is my one
true calling to gaze and whisper small happenings
of the world into wilted stalk I say There goes
an aeroplane in that determined way
that only aeroplanes know I say The wind, the wind





I talk to chickens because chickens are dumb
Although I am dumb I am not as dumb
as a chicken Herein lies the crux In many ways
they are just like little dust bins I am like most people
in my resemblance to a somewhat larger dust bin
but also my general incompetence and this desire
to be king I walk from room to room addressing my flock
I say It is a long way to Reno folks I say The pancake
was not a pancake and is the reason Esmeralda is dead
When I stare into the eyes of a chicken I see a field It is always
the same field It is covered in snow A man walks away
toward some other thing I call to him but he does not turn


  1. markietee · September 28, 2016

    the wind whispered to me, too


  2. Patrickweads · April 28, 2019

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s