Headwind

By Johannes Springenseiss

The westerly’s turning fierce, cold dew dripping down from tree leaves. It all seems to fold in on itself; my blunted-down mind is a zigzag labyrinth, a dazed Mobius snake biting its own head.

Runaway ideas are jostling to gain primary focus: spinning grotesque yarns to submit to lit-mags, joining another gym, getting the state sticker for the SUV, figuring out better ways to smoke venison and strip salmon roe.

I hesitate to go on. Memory whispers, the wrong path leads to the big kaboom, and oftentimes the right path’s missing. I feel stranded in dreary isolation.

Should’ve stayed in Milwaukee.