I’m Using the Towel


Let me get the mistake out of the shower. Let me splash on some desert mint. You
see, I’m available now, but I’m still using the towel you gave away.
That’s how quickly life changes. The moisture content signaling a biological
response. It hurts and I still want it.
It’s like a headache with a soft wet key.
And on the edge of that road there’s a man with a very loud music box. It starts
raining again.
Let me get the story away from the authorities. Too many questions.
Let me give you a breath mint. I wish it could be a wet one.
The music box is singing, “Whip it. Whip it good.” But I’m breathing with greater
ease and awareness now. The rain is ready for another dance.
On the edge of the same road the man is whispering. It’s harder to hear the grass.
A revolutionary collection of windsongs appears to be resting between drying
parents. All we have to do now is change the direction of the headache, its soft wet thread
woven into the gift you once might have discarded. All we have to do now is return the
device with which we have accepted the moisture and explain that it’s not a towel.
If the rain continues dancing, we’re complicit. The man on the road may have been
me all along. You might have been expecting that. If the mistake isn’t dressed to suit you,
you might try adjusting the weather. It’s got something to do with moisture compatibility
and the misrepresentation of domestic activity.
I can’t be held responsible. You’ve got your own life now. Here, try singing along
with this new music box I imagined. You could make the song do whatever you want.
You could stand out in the rain along the same road and wait for the incident to find you.
Of course the rain makes it more difficult, but it’s not my rain, now, is it.

Fiction. Modern Abstract Fables.

(First edition, hardcover with dustjacket, 524 pages, $36.50 USD.)

Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days draws from fairy tales, a condescending of a 1938 Social Studies reader for 6th grade, an 1890 handbook on marital compatibility, numerous annoying educational advancement studies, the myths and legends of third-world countries and minority peoples, pulp fiction, a history of carnival side shows, folktales, frequent conversations with Crows, Owls and a wide variety of underground inhabitants, insects and the people who collect them, Joseph Cornell, Günter Eich, Russell Edson, the French Surrealist poets, the Quay Brothers, letterpress printing, and the author’s inability to channel his imagination linearly.

Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.