by Brian Dickson
Will try carving on rock. Too many items to remember for the next six days. Here we go. See, this thing called the firmament blanketed the space around me whenever I shifted in the universe. Then, this larger shroud spread over the firmament, full of bright, flaming things–all from my dead cells. Who knew I was that hot? So hot my left over cells drifted together to form this floating blue, green, round mass in front of me. More later. My Lovely Thing, or it has disappeared again. All is good.
It lost a jaw attempting to mount a giant sloth, clamored to a tree with its arms outstretched, but fell apart, then gathered itself for sleep in a cute pyramid. Sloth just staggered away. Need second itto help the other one repair itself. You know? Checked on the pile. The first it glued itself together with mud. Maybe there isn’t a need for another one. All is good.
Oops. Mud dried and it fell apart again. My ribs hurt from blowing up its backside. Parts flew everywhere. Perhaps that doesn’t work. Destroyed fruit trees while for looking them. Sloth with blank look. Almost obliterated the sloth. Remade fruit trees. All is good.
Borrowed rib from muddied one to create second it because other one kept dipping into my mud bath and wouldn’t do shit all day. The first one scrambled out of the pit and flung dried pieces of mud at the sloth. Both stood there, dazzled. Second it took the first one’s spot whileit threw everything it had at me. Second one wouldn’t do shit all day but sit in the mud bath. The word shit. Note for later. Sloth slept in a secreted pad of its own mess.
Put together the first it as the second one soaked in the mud bath, molding things, making those things move, and it wouldn’t help me repair the first one. Before placing it back down, I rattled its hand through the skull. One finger (the middle one, I think), stuck out and blasted light. I thought, hey, that’s nice. All is good.
Used last rib of mine, sculpted a slithery thing. Not slither…more clattered toward the other two at the gooey pit. Every furry thing scattered (fur now!). Mud everywhere! Shit messes! I ordered the three its to clean up and all they did was make another mud pit out of where the sun or moon doesn’t shine. Where I can’t even shine. Beginning to rethink this whole thing. The slithery thing stiffened and the other two flung it back and forth. Sloth stood blank when it hit him in the chest. I’m tired.
Dipped in the goo with them. I can’t find the sloth. Plan later. Note ticklish toes. Second note: these its are too hard. Something that keeps the moisture of my tears. They need something that burns like me. When they laugh they shake the world.
Brian Dickson keeps this line from Charles Simic with him at all times: “A vision for your life is a work of art.” Life as a messy art form where wayward brushstrokes reveal happy accidents…and not-so-happy accidents. This vision has led him to creativity, infusing it into cooking, gardening, writing, letterpress printing, worm farming, riding a bike, relationships, and teaching. He has published in journals around the states including two chapbooks, In a Heart’s Rut (High5 Press), Maybe This is How Tides Work (Finishing Line Press), and one book All Points Radiant (WordTech Editions).
Brian lives in Denver with his partner, Sarah, among joy everyday.