I don’t throw darts at balloons, I throw balloons at darts.—Joe Montana
The invention of consciousnesswas as brutal as it was the birth of the pasttense. The past itself not a place, but the echoof a place. Placation, endless rearrangingand no tables to speak of. Memoryis a bag of grapes from the grocery store.
The supermarket does nothing for the depiction of chaos’ position in the universe.
We are a more durable smoke, or if you prefera more gooey fire. What I would really liketo know is what isn’t a moving target?We are all concerned with the weatherof limitation. Power is made of mostlyoverrated, what’s important is how we handlethe indignity, the reaction. Greatness: soft eyesto see everything as a blurry whole, not to lullin expectation, but to see opportunity in a worldwhere nothing is fixed. Between distanceand chaos there is free will, or if you prefersomething more ornate, there is the opportunityfor the staggering. But I digress, everything that doesnot need you is real. [End Page 126]
Justin Irizarry is originally from Texas, but currently resides in Denver. He has an ma in Creative Writing from the University of North Texas, and an mfa from unlv. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Pleiades, Third Coast, and Front Porch.