First I try reading myself back to sleep. Then I try sleeping on the couch. Then I get on the Internet. Endless wars. Out of control climate change. The hands of the Doomsday Clock creeping up on midnight. Oswald was just a dupe. Self-annihilation has always been the plan. Meanwhile, satellites outshine the stars.
&
It’s after six in the morning, but still dark out. I have an idea what might be hiding there. Homo homini lupus (“Man is wolf to man”). Most everything that suffers his attention dies from it. Hitler planned to open a Museum of an Extinct Race to celebrate the Final Solution, the liquidation of European Jewry. In the pages of this month’s Hadassah Magazine, Auschwitz survivors share treasured recipes.
&
Sunrise has turned the sky the color of watery blood. The trees sway like drunks. Somewhere torturers shove a hot wire up a prisoner’s penis. Birds feel the voice of God despite and sing.
— Howie Good’s latest book is Frowny Face, a mix of his prose poems and handmade collages from Redhawk Publications. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.