Volume 9 Issue 3

Local Bears

I ride in an unfamiliar SUV through my old neighborhood. Two people are in the SUV with me. One of them drives. Through the window I can tell that there is something going on in the middle of the city. There might be snow, I can’t remember. The SUV parks at the edge of a cul-de-sac, a place where the residential road intersects a larger street. I can see a traffic signal from where we park. It is just outside the neighborhood’s reach. We move a little farther down the street. We park again. We get out of the car. I feel that one of my companions tells me that someone has lost a bear. It is running wild. It is also a grizzly bear. The most dangerous bear. I hear it from their mouth. It is what they tell me. It could be a Montana bear or a Wyoming bear, or a local bear. The last is unlikely. I have seen those bears and they do not exist.

In Dialogue with a Mirror

MAN: And even Hegel once said that there are some people—that within them the will of history has been instilled so deeply, like a parasite, like a spirit, that the brain’s crevices turn from flesh to stone, and it is within this burning pumice, within the heated, boiling rock, that man is no longer man, cannot consider himself man, no, more than man—to be the man and the world in one breath. They say if the world could write, it would write like Tolstoy.

A Dark Fire is Kindled in Phoenix

Watching the videos from a safe place,
I’m struck not just by the crowd but by how it moves,
how it swarms to the front like flies to a corpse and churns about in agitated delirium.
It’s all so Bacchic, in its frenzied ecstasy and cultish ritual, or even Lovecraftian;
I half-expect the crowd to start chanting to Cthulhu any minute now.
But the only Elder God this cruel spectacle honors is standing on the podium,
and he speaks in a tongue far less esoteric,
one leavened with a thousand primal appeals and playground slurs.