Imaginary Crimes

1
He was a man who liked to appear in public with a red face
and drooping black moustache. What’s my last name? he’d
ask strangers. A silk top hat was the only clue.

2
We read about it the next day in the newspaper. What
looked like an accident was really the mind-body split.
The satchel didn’t seem big enough to contain so much
darkness.

3
I followed the sound of champagne music. The front door
was open and the radio on, and then the room spun like the
cylinder of a revolver.

 

Variations on a Theme

1
The fire
is breathing.

Something
to think about

when there’s
nothing

to think about.

2
The hitchhiker
holds up a hand-
lettered sign.
What’s it say?
Even he doesn’t
know anymore.

3
God
like a Nazi
doctor

living
in another
country

under
another
name.

***
Howie Good is the author of the full-length poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011).