A Cure for What Ails You

{ Issue 6 }

 
1
My head has become an ungovernable city of murderers and thieves. I can only stare at something for so long before the police start coming around. After all this rain, a body hangs from a neighbor’s tree. Don’t listen to what the flies say. If nobody loves you, somebody can still fear you.

2
I didn’t discover that the ocean was dead until months after it died. Refugees from the pages of banned books ask directions to the future. All the things that might help should be indexed somewhere. I have begun a list in my head: plantain for colds, raspberry for stomachaches, red clover for nerves.
 
 

Howie Good

Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of four poetry collections, most recently Dreaming in Red, from Right Hand Pointing. All proceeds from the sale of the book go to a crisis center, which you can read about here. He is also the author of numerous chapbooks, including The Devil’s Fuzzy Slippers from Flutter Press and Personal Myths from Writing Knights Press. He has two other chapbooks forthcoming, Fog Area from Dog on a Chain Press and The Death of Me from Pig Ear Press.

Howie Good's website »