Victors Heart Chimes

       The Myth of Prescience All purpose and carelessness, all coveted stimulation and devoted duty crescendoed then receded, and now left lone in the stilling swell, the boat’s soft swoosh‑glide comes to a gentle halt. The oars slip from atrophied hands, plunge into the water. No wave of momentum, no tool for movement — just the minute sound of water breathing. Blistered palms soothe in rubbing each other. I would be doing every choice that brought me here disservice to think all roads ultimately led here. Yet I would be unwise to think the strange inner machinations of myself — the forces accepted, the forces rejected, and the environment they were born in — didn’t quietly carve and whisper this myth into existence. Rigid back finds overdue respite as it meets the boat’s bench. It crackles as outstretched spine uncoils atop wooden planks. The sky is paintbrush blue with a gradient so pure it nearly comes across as a singular shade of blu...

Suspension of Disbelief  I brush off the grief that’s been lumbering my spirit long enough to run outside for lunch. Narrative break and narrative break— this long‑overdue gap in space wallops my brain. I arrive at my place in line. My mind teeming with what I did and didn’t do, spanning years and miles wide. I accept the minute distraction, compose my order before the proposition comes. Six‑inch BMT, and it’s back to roiling remembrance, chasing ghosts through my head. The world feels shrinking. Realities cinched I didn’t choose. A decade‑long love I’m trying to put in the rearview. Filaments behind my eyes flicker and strain, stoking fear inside. I’m going to bed and waking up somewhere that’s not my own. I’m living a life carved by loss, lighting a fire in the dark with what I’ve got. The woman ahead speaks to me. I crawl out of my head to tune in. She marks these strange times, the problems adding up, my thinness and the swirling winds that could pick me up. I’m adrift ins...

Fire on the Moor Fickle flicker of desire runs through me, turning my body electric. Static‑shocked fingers pulse—words heard and formed resound with simple eloquence, harmonious and buoyant. Fickle flicker of desire flames out, turning my blood tepid. Stillness sets in. The excitement settles, chaos quells. The body, cold and heavy, awakes from dreams in technicolor turned lurid limbo. Fickle flicker of desire, once ravenous and hot, feasted itself into collapse. Without the flame that once sustained, I roam a dark, foggy moor, seeking whence I came— this sweet, now sordid journey. I traipse without grace; heaps of slick mud clump to my heel, turning every pace into strained clomps. Fickle flicker of desire— I wade through misty dark in search of remnants of spark to once again enliven this homeward arc. Wanton wisps of shelved personae push and pull my unsteady frame into choppy motion. Oh misty moor, your strange hints and glints of displaced light make play of things nevermore...

Frankenstein Mornings Morning breaks. The rays of light jut in. Sweet, bold flavor of coffee lingers on my lips.  I set to read, parse through words, break narrative into spirit-sustenance to interrupt the dread I feel at light piercing through night’s cold uncertainty, now hollow day. Fog floats, and floaters jump, making words full of motion and haze. I focus through. Inner rich dialogues of Frankenstein’s impassioned missteps mirror my own. Self-directed, scalding igneous gestations roil and stew in my spirit, bearing contempt’s weight. Joys of daybreak— the meeting of another day with longing’s sweet anticipation, a pleasure out of reach. Early morning focused direction, absorbed into the life I’m building— purpose, passion, pursuit— splinters in the wake of nighttime fears. Ghosts still bedside upon waking seldom scatter. The day begins with fatigued eyes, mind a mess from frantic carousel spirals. Day’s call to action summons me. From a weary and dizzy spirit, I fi...

 Safety Not Guaranteed A jolting pulse rouses me from peaceful slumber. Dry, weary eyes crack open and guide me through the first waking moments. Fresh, hot morning light breaks through the window. I clear the cobwebs and fog of sleep with a few fluttering blinks. With limited success, I stumble to my feet and fumble legs into pants. A thick layer of fog still looms, stirring fears of the damaged, flickering filament behind my right eye. The day begins. The tether resumes. A tug of war unfolds between a hungry mind and a body ready to break free, while my eyes jockey to remain closed. They flip with fickle unpredictability between fuzzy and briefly focused. It’s off to work with a turn of the car key. Cue music that’s loud yet hopeful. The thump and boom enter my body, a joyful roar meant to quiet the fears rising within. Hope and grief crash into me at the same time. Away we go, safety not guaranteed. In one piece, physically, mentally, mostly, I arrive where I need to be. The ...