To Me-

Remember the experience as it unfolded? Mail, what’s that? A Publishing Genius package is branded with a kitten. Inside of mine there’s a wafer of rectangle dark book with light burst and a bookmark or nice piece of paper, declares Lit Pub. Looking at the cover I saw all kinds of gray and light and textures. Then I looked again and saw an owl. Is that owl supposed to be there? Now I always see an owl. Towering above a glass lake, a bank of snow.

Fog Gorgeous Stag. The G’s line up in your mouth and on the cover of the book. Those lines are good. The title is organized and it juts phallic. It does. You’ve earned it. Sean Lovelace floats just beneath, serene. Is it short? What? Is it small? Don’t be stupid. Don’t be impatient.

Only, this is for me.

I was asked, or maybe told?; combine with nacho cheese. Nacho cheese? Is this metaphor? Is this complex symbol? Narrative device? Who are you? Let’s make us some cheese. I like a sauce. Not just melted cheese but flowing. Still basic. Butter flour milk. Then cheese. I like pepper jack so that’s what I use. I throw in two glop chili paste. This is my cheese. I like heat. I’m no connoissuer, no competitor. I have a friend who will heat till I cry. She complains of blandness. But okay I like some. With cheese I need chips. What kind? Could we make them from tortillas? Certainly. Could we make the tortillas as well? Perhaps. But I haven’t the ingredients for either. Oh God. What now? Fear not. I have a stock of Juanita’s. Juanita’s are my go to. My only. Chip of champs. Fuck Tostitos, shit is rank. Like corn cob salt lick. Am I a gerbil? Some fucking rodent to you Tostitos?
Why Juanita’s?
-Taste like good.
-Four ingredients, like a chip should. As in Corn masa flour, water, oil, touch of salt. A touch. A caress.
-From Oregon. Nice.

Go on. What is it? I don’t know. Only, I think I want to read it with my eyes closed. Only, no. I think I want the book to exist wholly in my mind or face. I think I want to dream of living within the pages and walking the location of each passing letter word bracket italic subsection. It’s just the best words somehow, and then a little more. Also, read out loud. In fact, out loud it’s different. Maybe better, but different. I wonder if there’s something more in these words, something beyond me and my limited whatever. I’m glad I don’t care. What I care is how good the reading was and how good it’ll be the next time. It tastes and makes want in the back of my throat. I feel like I don’t ever want to discuss except to say ‘Read this, this one here.’ and ‘I know.’ Like I did moments ago with my girlfriend. Because:

Downhill running, tumbling, very long leg rubbing [God, 32]

And:

have you struck hunger? [Momentum, 58]

Or:

sugar cubes, world views, fuck yous. [Square 11, 6]

:

Not so easy to run from the sweet sounds of Good Brain [We Lie in Any Stream, 46]

What is there to talk about? Something surely. But I don’t really want to, I think.

What am I after? Nothing. I enjoyed myself. It was fucking good.