Pretty Boys
Moving restively through a corridor of dust. A beep of a car alarm being armed reminds me of a
fire consuming a town. A sneer that resembles a command. Come boy. Lap me up. Eat here with
me. I laugh an unutterable sigh. And forgive my ignorance. A delusion that makes me null. I hear
the cough from the last night of a room, falling into euphoria. It’s been a few years since I’ve
been spoken to by anyone besides my nurse practitioner who fumbles over my life emptying it
into an urn the size of her womb. I’ve talked to walls. Filling the empty space. Sometimes god
replies. They call it schizophrenia. A white masque. Glares plucking at me. Ping, dink. An
incessant tap, tap, tap upon the skull. Making me rear my head. A Minotaur lashes her tail.
Blindness in a labyrinth. Awake in a field of sprigs. Alone to call death. The peck of bat wings
cut. A woman stands motionless with a pair of moonstones lodged in her head. Now the young
girls are bitter. Inured by my hand turning an endless book into something finite. I search my
pocket. Nothingness. So, I can’t pay. Slowly walking away from the cashier who won’t talk to
me now. Just five whole seconds of humanity, lost. It’s the same habit. When I had a job, they
put me in a sack filled with stones. Drown beautiful boy. Sometimes I can’t stand looking at
myself. Because vanity is a sin. And girls only love pretty things they can break. She tore the
head off Ken. And Barbie went to law school.
Nurse
Its grey skies bear over me like a man set to prove his daughter’s lot. I listened to the yarn as
though weighted down. Hanging my head to hear the guillotine pierce my neck. Onlookers clung
to their phones, and I heard the squawk of a bird. We could be just a lamp of fire burning shadow
and no one could speak of it kindly. I spoke of a shipwreck and felt incomprehensible. Not
knowing about how much she loathed my face and body. The reminder of having reconciled with
falling. The door clanks ajar and I walk through unbearably modest. And another girl forgets
herself among the sprigs. Alone, closing my eyes I sense the erasure wadded in my pocket. An
email address written on a post-it to give an appearance and book signing. I apologize to
everyone in advance for even showing up. There’s a fake plant on the bureau being watered. I
swallow a starfish whole, thorny spines and all. It’s a disaster. And I see you now, understanding
why it had to be this way. Ghosted by the only woman who should care. As though hidden in
your resentment was my fame. Now we can’t have an authentic taco from that dive eatery
together which you had to pay for because there wasn’t much I could. You sounded so bruised.
Like a white-knuckled fawn with restless legs. Tucked under my arm is a book that never ends.
And the last girl I talked to is now wearing an engagement ring I had not noticed before. Even
the moon stares ruthlessly upon me. Trapped in a world of twilight. I get my monthly injection,
and the nurse ignores me with purpose as he pours over my wound. Almost gravely sad at what
they do.
Cryptic Habituation
I stare into the void. It becomes a well of black space. Here in the lassitude where I’ve tallied the
men who have grown embittered a thousand cities are razed. The crime of idolatry. Girls are
indignant with my habituation. As I scrutinize the contents of a book. Chewing over why she
walked away mute and wroth. As though mollifying a feral horse. Wresting the spry girl from
illusion. Holding contempt for her foremost. Cryptic men hurry a tiny skirmish. Shrews yap in
conceit. But what could I possibly do being daft with loneliness? Resigned to forgo solicitation
of beauty. I began to write. Giving meaning to merciless chagrin which brought unrest to the
town. I wrote eyes glaring into my dark soul then abruptly darting into the corridor of
invisibility. A laconic hand that reached its wispy fingers for my unkempt hair. As girls browsed
their bill at my solitude with unkindness. I looked into a mirror irresolute not completely
understanding why. Sitting in the anteroom of Hell, I was finally attended to. Shopkeepers stood
rueful on their phones waiting for my disappearance. I’ve never seen such magnitude, the
unforgiving nature of comeliness.
*****
Harry Edgar Palacio (Hari) is a critically acclaimed underground Indie/Alternative musician, numerous award-winning author & prize-winning fine artist. He hit #1 in Luxembourg music charts with his hit single “Coral Relief”, performed with Grammy winners & Grammy nominated artists including Ari Up, lead singer of The Slits ‘Godmothers of Punk’ former members of The Raincoats, championed by Kurt Cobain and La Gran Mawon, up and coming international Afro-Dominican band. He was offered a music contract with Atlantic & Interscope Records, featured on over 99 music magazines including MTV.
