That was prettymuch the story of my life in profile. I keep thinking about glass, but don’t know what to say when continually thugs come to me in a dark alley disguised as you, only a you made of glass shattering back together. But all that’s behind me now, I’m much better than I was, a study in human behaviour of the particular sort of person who says and does these things in public, which is the region of my soul, O thou. I consider this more like drawing a picture of someone drawing water from a well that figures prominently in a children’s book about the ins and outs of rigor mortis and their relationship to fucking. Ouch, or excuse me, I erupted again. That’s not the right word: life is scared. Dogs only rarely eat other dogs, it’s just a myth about our time, like the fish that ate Pittsburgh. I was born underwater eventually, they found me in moving reeds. That’s the honest truth. I work for the city, too, you guessed it, a tax collector, but right, who cares. Each sketch is action in a frame advancing without expectation, in other words, without end.
Karl Parker Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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