William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Stardust on Rye

Another morning. You open your closet. Which thoughts will you wear? — when, behold, you have outgrown them all.

 
Stardust on Rye

There are days when you are certain a simple glass of water and sunlight will do, when no other nourishment is necessary, when hunger is your best companion. Around noon, you think briefly about sitting down to a great cosmic sandwich, stardust on rye, but soon enough the feeling passes. Then you start thinking about lemons. The sun is a lemon. So is your eye. This thought also passes. It is replaced by garbanzos, or chickpeas, if you prefer. But you hold your course. In a little outpost just past Orion, someone is selling beautifully fashioned walking sticks made from trees grown all over the galaxy and beyond. Each walking stick is named for one of the great masters of haiku, and you don’t think it odd. Rather, what could be more appropriate, life being the eternally brief thing that it is? You purchase one. It costs only your soul. Behind the counter is a god with a face lined like a wind-webbed sahara. Or is it a mirror? “Your change.” And you are pleased, because change is why you are here.

Recently Banned Literature, April 10, 2018

Categories: Everything and Nothing, Recently Banned Literature

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