BY KEith Blank

I’ll try to write the image, so listen if it’s good, but I can’t guarantee clarity

You’ve got yourself on the gummy pull,

A spiral of romance memory become nothing in time

Ascending the tower of babble, I declare the hurting word to be growth,

To be gross like the rat trap tossed


So do not push but release from the gummy pull, the sticky and delicate path to Hell behind you,

A dragon of headlights heading into the light

Soft, circling and endless


Walk away from the place and never turn sideways twice, never become a phantom like I did

I chose to become a phantom, become a little shadow on a wall with a light flicker indicating life

This is where I spend my time


Blank sent for me and I answered

I staggered right into the silver-tip claws of the masochist werewolf


Managing to squirt out twenty-five years young as the ravenous bastard made carcass of me


And then I became phantom, shuttled into passing shadow before I could read my tired poem


Machine Gummies are the source of upset, and now that my ugly body is slashed in half, I can

really say what I mean

The desire for things past has returned, withdrawn are my reservations over the bruised and

beaten dead horse

Now, I will polter along until sunset in tremors of forgetting and remembering a time outside



Well I was three or four once,

I was a tense homebody and then I felt remembered


I was a beautiful creature with clear color nails and no concept


But then Blank sent for me and I answered with haste

Keith Blank is a California resident spending his time in lockdown tending to his goats, playing card games, and fixing fences. He writes about memory, generation loss, dreams, and digital lives