Think about reason – bonk bonk. Well, at least let me tell you

about biography – bonk. My heaven is slight, eager to appear,

a lung full. I love my friends and some days I hate them, spirits

suddenly replaced in the night like the great changeling

of folklore. A week and I could make them pay for this. In a

Yankee state all of the citizens lilt their heads upward at certain

sounds, for certain parts of speech or syntax. They take pride

in it being a Yankee state, claim they’ve erased racism, yet

the schools still load honors classes with idiot white kids, white

teachers still say Detroit and Chicago are “dirty, dirty places.”

One school has an emergency plan for every possible contingency,

including nuclear attack, dirty bomb attack, biological weapon

attack, and stranger on campus. Determine what the stranger’s

nationality is, first, says the book. The principals, when I sub,

ask me where I’m from and look disappointed when I say

Canada. Sure I know what they meant but fuck em! Where are

they from? Bradenton? Aidenton? Thomsonton? My friends,

they’re nice people who would support me at a moment’s notice.

My heaven, it’s just silence, ice, and dark. Some of my friends

believe my successes were helped by my a) name b) “olive skin”

c) nationality of certain members of my family who are strangers

to me or d) all of the above. Those friends, they are close friends,

and some only think this from afar. The car, it needs another

expensive procedure. It has a taste for blood. I wish it to be

crushed at night by a tree branch, something quick and non-

injurious. Car heaven, is that dark too? Next to, I imagine,

cat heaven. All the heavens adjacent but I want them empty if real.