Thousands thronged the city

eyeing Rainey’s neck,

looped by rope

and not much hope,

standing on that deck.

Nabbed for killing Lischia,

aged three-score and 10.

Choked her first,

(unrehearsed)

then went to the pen.

“Hurry,” howled the huddled horde.

“Why not hang ’im now?”

Sheriff Thompson

held her gun,

“He’ll die soon,” she vowed.

Cameras lined the gallows,

reporters on their toes.

Happened quick,

then they “Clicked,”

ending Thompson’s show.

Those who saw the hangin’

never will forget

how he fell

straight to Hell,

in 19-36.

Thousands thronged the city.

(All saw Rainey die.)

Now they’re gone,

life’s moved on.

No one said, “Good-bye.”

Pikes Peak, her favorite mountain, stands tall, out to impress, commanding through the window, brightened with the shining sun, there for her, one final day.

Pikes Peak, enshrouded by clouds, presence unknown, a marked absence, snow falls, the day is dark, “funeral weather” her friend Betty says.

And as the sun rose

Higher in the sky

A mask appeared on the man

Covering his face

His true self trapped deep inside

Come meet the demon in disguise,

…But you won’t

Because your afraid

Admit it

You hear the devil’s whisper

And the calls of the beast

Yet you act like a man dying of thirst

Watching another man drown

Fine, don’t listen!

Just put up that wall you built

To guard your heart

Forever marvel at the theatrics

of smoke and mirrors

Hell, put truth and ignorance

on the same pedal stool if you must

Cause like an ostrich

sticking its head in the sand

You will do whatever it takes

To avoid reality

….Why?

Cause any distraction

Is just one more second of bliss

Pure ignorant bliss

Before it all comes crashing down

Like the waves of a tsunami

onto the shore

...Your afraid

Admit it

You can’t keep up the facade

Your hear the devil’s whisper

And the calls of the beast

You want to ignore it

So you tell yourself it doesn’t exist

As the sun rose

Higher in the sky

A mask appeared on the man

Covering his face

His true self trapped deep inside

Come meet the demon in disguise,

...But you won’t

Because your afraid

Afraid that the demon in disguise is you

Come meet the demon in disguise

Heated oil

poured over scraped bone;

from the open window comes

the chemical/shit stink of

contaminated soil, humid

and thick and filled with

the buzzing midges of mopeds

and sing-song voices.

Exhaustion with greasy fingers

pulls me back into sleep,

but I resist the tender,

smearing caresses and

rise from the sticky bed,

stepping over broken glass

to stand at the window. She does

not stir. The lace curtains

have yellowed; I stand and look out,

if I smoked this would be the time.

The day is grey, the time is ambiguous:

perhaps we have slept all day and night

and into the next day, or only an hour.

The street below is filled, still, with

vegetable carts and people and dogs and

pedicabs; a teenager stands at the edge

of the sidewalk and pisses into the street

drain; no one seems to care.

Tomorrow, I will turn myself in

to the American embassy. I dig my fingers

through my thick hair, it feels filthy and

caked. My skin is filmed with dirt

and sweat. On the bed she stirs, stretches

like a cat, queefs and sits up to look at me.

"Mấy giờ rồi?"

"Tôi không biết."

She nods and lays back down; in seconds

I hear her light snoring.

The air is making my throat raw, I move

from the window, back to the bed,

not as careful this time, stepping on a

shard of glass and slicing open my toe.

I sit at the edge of the bed, running my

fingertips down her silky black hair,

down the slope of her back to the swell

of her bottom, now the pat-pat-pat

of blood dripping onto the floor

added to the sound of the day,

the evening,

the morning coming through the window.

I watch a gecko dart across the floor,

pause at the tiny puddle of blood,

then move around it, disappearing under

the nightstand.

I cough up and spit oil onto the floor, pick

up my soggy, greyed pillow and hold it

to my chest, stand slowly so as not to wake

her, and step onto the glass with both feet.

Three years since leaving

the silver salmon return

back to the river,

creeks, and waters they were born

to give new life, and then die.

The priest, living his life for God, prays for the world for hours on end with a faith that knows no bounds. The high school student, overloaded with too many responsibilities, falls off the wire trying to balance a job, schoolwork, and a girlfriend. The grandmother, nearing the end of her life, waits and waits for her son to visit her one last time. The priest gives up tonight, gives in to worldly pleasures to ease the weight of the world, only Sunday. The high school student contemplates opening the floodgates on his wrists tonight to distract himself from the weight of living, only Sunday. The grandmother fades away never seeing her son for the fortieth straight year, only Sunday.

The football player, fresh off the best game of his life, drinks far too much in far too little time. The writer, struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle of life together, stares at an empty computer screen waiting for words that will never come. The child, not knowing why there is so much yelling coming from downstairs, hides away in the safety of her blankets. The football player loses control of his car and rams straight into a family of four coming home from a night out, only Monday. The writer slams her laptop shut in frustration and breaks down in tears, only Monday. The child prays to anyone who’s listening to make the fighting in her house stop, only Monday.

The businessman, blinded by ambition, strives for a perfection he will never reach. The waitress, whose life always seems to be taking the wrong turn, works and works and works for just one more shot. The politician, who lies to the country for a living, finally failed to keep his two separate families from knowing about the other. The businessman drowns in alcohol tonight, only Tuesday. The waitress goes home to a small apartment in the middle of the city and cries herself to sleep for the third time this week, only Tuesday. The politician picks out his best suit from the confines of his motel room after his entire life fell from beneath him, only Tuesday.

The teacher, exhausted by her job, comes home to an empty house to match her empty life. The musician, having just performed for thousands, collapses in his hotel room holding the bag of drugs that will temporarily bring him happiness. The accountant, living locked into a routine, stays up far too late trying to find the one in a city of millions. The teacher falls on the floor unable to get up due to a lack of food, only Wednesday. The musician overdoses on artificial joy and won’t be found until tomorrow, only Wednesday. The accountant made too much of an advance and woke up in an alley with a pounding headache and a broken arm, only Wednesday.

The doctor, saving lives every day of her life, begins to wonder if she can keep her own body alive. The actor, finally hitting his stride, receives a phone call that brings everything toppling into a pile of rubble. The model, constantly being complimented on her looks, looks at the plate of food before her debating if she should eat. The doctor looks at the pills in her medicine cabinet knowing exactly how much would flat line her, only Thursday. The actor breaks every speed law trying to drive across the country to get to his brother who was recently hospitalized, only Thursday. The model skips another meal in the hopes that she’ll see herself the way the cameras do, only Thursday.

The drug dealer, one mistake away from being locked up, continually goes through the motions trying to make enough money to send his little girl to college. The CEO, internally overflowing with corruption, makes yet another bad deal in order to get even more money for personal gain. The policeman, never knowing if he’ll be able to go home alive each night, goes through the motions of chasing another criminal. The drug dealer hides out in an abandoned building in an effort to get home before the sun rises, only Friday. The CEO tries to sleep with the wrenching pain of guilt and shame, only Friday. The policeman gets another call of an armed robbery and he wonders if this will be his last, only Friday.

The mother, left alone after all her children have grown up, doesn’t know what to do with the remainder of her life. The janitor, spending his life cleaning up the messes of others, doesn’t know where to begin with cleaning the mess of his own life. The therapist, spending day after day helping others with their problems, doesn’t know who to talk to about her own personal issues. The mother searches and searches to no avail for a reason to continue living, only Saturday. The janitor can’t even begin to address the problems in his life so he doesn’t even try, only Saturday. The therapist looks through social media wondering where her old friends and family went, only Saturday.

The priest thinks of the numerous lives he has impacted and brought to God and finds forgiveness in the pure nature of God. He wakes up the next day with a rejuvenated faith and passion for evangelism.

The high school student looks through his phone at pictures of good times with friends and incredible nights with his girlfriend and finds hope in the memory of better days. He puts the knife down and realizes that things are not as bad as they seem.

The grandmother gets a long awaited phone call from her son and finds peace in the final moments of her life. She goes to sleep one last time with a smile of content painted across her face.

The football player offers infinite apologies to the family, thankful that the only injury was to himself and finds reality in the scene of the wreckage. He arrives in the hospital with a new perspective on life.

The writer picks up her favorite book she has ever read and finds calmness within the pages and the ink. She opens up her laptop and finally lets the words flow form her brain and onto the paper.

The child clutches her favorite stuffed animal as her parents hold her tight apologizing for the recent struggles they have had and she finds silence in the loving hold of her mother and father. She sleeps without a bad dream for the first time in a week.

The businessman wakes up at three in the morning and gazes out upon the city from his apartment and finds sobriety in the midst of his most painful night. He goes to work the next morning with a new perspective on life.

The waitress stares at the ceiling thinking about how her life got to this point and finds a future in the never-let-die attitude she was known for. She enrolls in college classes ready to learn and start the next chapter of her life.

The politician looks at the text from his first wife that says I still love you and finds a second chance in the loving and forgiving nature of woman he had always loved. He goes to church with her after the trial and begins a complete turnaround of his life.

The teacher reads the numerous letters from students and parents that she has received over the years and finds motivation in the praise of the impacted lives. She begins to kick start her own ability to help others find success.

The musician wakes up to his best friend shaking him awake saying how worried he was when his phone calls went unanswered and finds authenticity in the one person who seemed to truly care. He goes back into the studio with a new style that is thankful for life.

The accountant is found by a random stranger and she takes him back to his apartment to tend to his wounds and he finds a love for humanity in the kindness of a passerby. In an hour he leaves the man’s apartment full of grace.

The doctor slams the medicine cabinet shut and finds the numerous pictures and letters she has received from people whom she had given new life to and finds satisfaction in her work. She takes a moment to write back to all the patients who had ever written her a thank you note.

The actor pulls into a gas station and gets a call from his brother and rejoices in the fact that his brother will be okay he just got into a minor automobile accident and finds life in the area of potential death. He continues to drive to make a long overdue visit to his family.

The model remembers her childhood promise to never let others shape her opinion of herself and finds acceptance within her own body. She sits at the table and digs into the meal that her wonderful boyfriend had made.

The drug dealer realizes he had to make drastic changes to insure the future of his daughter and looks at the stars and finds salvation in the heavens. He goes home tonight and pulls out his father’s old bible and reads the most amazing story he had ever read.

The CEO wakes up in a cold sweat and cancels all the bad deals she had ever made and finds true wealth in the feeling of the truth. She sits on her balcony and begins to plan the change of her company.

The policeman converses with his partner and they discuss the danger and he finds safety in the unwavering dedication of the entire police force. He no longer fears the night he won’t go home because he no longer believes that night will ever happen.

The mother gets a text from her oldest saying he misses home and she finds purpose in the fact that she will always be a mother. She tells her children that they are always welcome back home and she will always love them unconditionally.

The janitor looks at his life and then thinks of the potential he could have and finds purity in the future. He begins to slowly clean his life up with a vigor he had never had before.

The therapist contacts some old friends and they make a plan to get together after all this time and she finds belonging in her friends she always had. For the first time all year she goes to sleep without a single worry plaguing her mind.

The author goes through the hard times, he goes through the great times, he feels the lowest of the low, he feels like he’s on top of the world, he lives the ups and downs that make up his life. He projects himself into the characters of his stories and they, like him, go through just another week, another experience, which starts off wrong but can drastically change due to one singular event. They, like him, feel sadness. They, like him, feel happiness. They, like him, feel hopelessness. They, like him, feel hope. They, like him, experience life.

The woody smell of juniper. Bright green needles drape off the branches shooting out from the gnarled, twisted bark of the trunk. The tree looks wise and ancient, solitary in this inhabitable desert landscape. Its berries sprung up after a recent spring rain and they contrast against the tree like water on a globe. At first glance, I think they're droplets leftover from the storm. The brown-grey-white-green-blue tree stands above the fiery red earth, the Navajo sandstone, and rises up from the mesa. It overlooks the desolate valley, and watches life come and go. It's withstood heat and droughts that killed other plants, animals, and even humans. It's survived wind, lightning, and hail and it's fed jackrabbits, coyotes, and birds. It thrives in this place of extremes, and gives, and lives on. I can't pinpoint what it is I find so intriguing about this tree, but it's enchanted me with its eternal presence, its invincibility, its resistance. I begin to feel the heat, the need for water and shade. I am not adapted to the environment in the precise way that the juniper is and I reluctantly leave, but the tree remains on that plateau, resiliently grown out of the rocks, above the valley forever under the wide open sky. 

How to become a famous Assassin

by Assassins Guild Inc.

1) Change your name.

1.5) We don't like that name, please change it again.

2) Run away from home for the safety of your family.

2.0) (for fast-tracking, devoted assassins only) Kill any or all members of your family and skip to step 7 (recommended age 14 and under).

3) Train your body. Find a method that works for you. 

            -Some suggestions: 100 push-ups and sit-ups every day, a 10km run every day,                    chopping 10 pounds of vegetables as fast as you can every day  

4) Buy a signature weapon of choice (a sharp edge is required).

5)Seek out a tragic and mentally damaging life event for flashback referencing at a later date.

6) In your new location of choice find the nearest sketchy alleyway or underground lair.

7) Kill a decent number of people in your sketchy location of choice. *Note if you get injured or killed in the process, then this job is not right for you. Assassins Guild Inc. suggests seeking a slightly less evil occupation such as a modern day serial killer, a zombie, or an accountant.

8) Repeat step 7 for a few days. A wealthy or authoritative individual (such as a political figure) will notice your actions and seek to have you killed.

9) Survive! 

10) After a month or so, the wealthy politician will give up on killing you and hire you to work (kill) for them.

11) Take the job.

12) Develop trust points from your employer. Assassins Guild Inc. recommends remembering their birthday and buying them coffee and/or Wine from time to time. *Note this step may take a few years, unless your employer is an idiot.

13) Kill your employer.

14) You will develop many enemies, pick a favourite and keep them alive while you play around with their life. Build as much hate points as you possibly can. This is so that they train themselves enough to gain some fame of their own.

15) When they're famous enough and strong enough, tell them your tragic backstory so that you don't die of loneliness.

16) Now kill them. And be sure to leave a signed note on their body (in legible font) that reads "Killed by [Enter step 1.5 name here]". This will ensure you gain all your victim's fame points.

~bonus level~ 17) You should be famous enough by now, but if you want national or global fame you must repeat steps 7 through 16 in various locations that don't yet know your (1.5) name.

The immigrant-polished surface of my mahogany desk reflects an image of success: a world-renowned psychologist with $700 spectacles and a you-can-tell-me sport coat. It wasn't always this way. Just three years ago, I was a struggling young professional, a practicing pragmatist drowning in the muck of convoluted human emotion. This was before the Department of Communication devoured the word salad called the English language and implemented a universal verbal system comprised of the 27 necessary utterings.

I have since signed a book deal, embarked on a world speaking tour, and been given a weekly one-hour program on network television. My net worth is $84 million. My first appointment today is with a Hollywood actress who very recently had a miscarriage. She arrives for her session.

"FML!" she weeps.

I place a hand on her shoulder. "SMH," I sympathize.

"Savage," she laments. "Savage."

I exhale, softly tell her: "Facepalm." Then I stare directly into her eyes and assure, "Lit, fam. Lit."

"Lulz." She wipes away a tear.

"Swag," I smile. She smiles back. The session is complete. She pays me $50,000. Worth every penny. "Swag," I call to my receptionist, strolling out the door. "Swag," I tell my driver, deciding it's such a beautiful day, why not walk home?

Two lovers are entangled on a park bench, lost in each other's being. "Bae," the man coos in the woman's ear.

The woman nuzzles his neck. "Bae," she swoons. She pecks him on the nose, the lips. They kiss passionately.

Such a sweet sight to see: two lovebirds chirping sweet poetry. I am so entranced by their romance that I bump shoulders with a passerby.

"Bruh!" the passerby grumbles, agitated. But then his eyes happen upon my face and he realizes who I am. He expresses his adulation for my contributions: "Fire, bruh!"

I am so flattered, so at a loss for any of the 27 words, that all I can manage is a perfect little smirk.

On the street corner a homeless man's soiled hat accepts donations. The man's talent: he beats the piss out of overturned pails as if they're a drum kit. A well-to-do woman sashays right up to me and below her breath she says, "Cringe." I make a smilish face and continue on my way. 

From my neighborhood: charcoal plumes of brimstone death smoke, vomiting from a nearby house. My house? I make a mad dash for home, malevolent thoughts firing like lasers across my brain synapses. My worst suspicions are confirmed when I arrive at the driveway. A fire rages like an angry sun, consuming my once-house, flames dancing in epileptic ecstasy, the stench of melted flesh wafting toward the heavens. My wife and young son: dead.

"OMG!" gasps a rubber-necking individual.

There is a terrible little man watching the fire with glee. His clothes are charred and his eyes are wet and glossy. Once he notices me, he bolts.

"Bruh!" I yell at the running man. But he's long gone.

At the police station, with my mind shattered, I approach the desk. How can I put into words such an atrocity? Voice quivering, I try: "Savage...lit fam...fire."

The officer looks up from his computer, face of stone. He clears his throat and responds, "YOLO."

The first time I saw the glacier from across the lake, the snow covered seracs stretched a quarter mile from the moraine by the peninsula over to the mountain and waterfalls on the east. It was winter, and I spent the season exploring, climbing over, traversing across, and anxiously staring up in awe at in the brilliant blue caves. Then spring came, the snow melted, and ice chunks thunderously crashed into the water creating icebergs. I no longer chanced crossing the expanse of the lake and I took to walking the silty beaches.

Spring transitioned to summer and I found myself admiring from afar, wandering nearby trails, breaking through the trees where I could to catch glimpses of the white cirques and crevasses sparking in the sun, contrasted against the bright green of the forest and patches of fireweed stealing the valley. Autumn arrived and the excitement wore off as I became accustomed to living so close to a glacier. I visited less and less, and the years passed by while the glacier slowly disappeared.

I awoke one winter weekend and, having dreamt in cerulean of the caves, had an impulse to return to the glacier. I knew the lake had not frozen solid as often this winter as it used to, so instead of making the trek across it I ventured deep in the woods to a once favored vantage point, a place I had eaten many pbj’s that first summer whenever I wanted to share lunch with the glacier. My enthusiasm grew as I wandered through the spruce trees and down the hill. But as the forest opened, it wasn’t the same as I remembered from the first winter. The glacier was barren; blue ice was visible in places where my memory saw snow covering it. It had retreated farther than I imagined. I could see new rocks and boulders that were buried underneath the glacier not so long ago. It was then that I realized the glacier would no longer be visible from my treasured spots up high on the mountain side, found standing in the silt on the west side, or along the peninsula that I spent so long finding.

I returned home and sat at my desk by the window in solitude, staring out into the rain. Something that seemed so distant and inconceivable was tangible and real. I’d read that some glaciers used to retreat at 150 feet per year; now they’re at 10 to 15 feet per day. What once took hundreds of years is happening in a few years. For my glacier, it was expected to soon pull out of the lake. I’d known this all along, but I thought it would take more time before the changes would be so noticeable. I felt a sense of urgency, hopelessness, even grief. The glacier had been my first friend here, a place to escape, to play, to simply be; she took care of me, and now it was time to take care of her.