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CAROL NOVACK
Willie Sprawled on a courtroom bench, Willie belches and stinks in the stale dregs of his socks, muttering something about fucking Allah, a bitch who threw him out of paradise, a mother in flames, a dog in a swamp. Dolores, the intrepid gambler of bodega back rooms, with deranged hair of uncertain color and quality legs orange and pink Popsicles, moves to another bench and laughs -- well something like a laugh that drowns at conception as an officer bellows: "Who's talking will be removed." But Willie talks. The man's a one man mine field, exploding into rhapsodic phalanxes of visions that assault one another, suffer profound wounds and return to battle, as mutants. Willie cannot actually be removed and he cannot be put together; that much is clear. The blue ones with the cuffs and chains can only put Willie inside something ostensibly outside of himself. But they cannot keep him. So you see Willie in the subway car again stretched across a bench, invading the car. Dolores and her aunt run to another car at the next stop. While others smell the darkness of chaos the moment the door opens and reconsider their advance as though the stench were a gun aimed straight at them. You see Willie over and over again, wherever you go he grows shadows that stretch from street to street, house to house. His shadows take over the sidewalks and follow you to places you thought were safe inside yourself. Swathed inside your tender box with its hospital corners, you close your eyes and see a thousand formless things, a thousand parts of yourself you cannot put together. Carol Novack lives in New York City. She’s worked as a journalist, researcher, college teacher of English, and criminal defense/constitutional lawyer; she recently acquired a Master’s Degree in Social Work. A book of her poems was published in Australia, where she received a creative writer’s grant. Carol’s poetry and prose have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Recent writings are forthcoming in “Wild Strawberries,” “Smokelong Quarterly,” and “Edifice Wrecked.” |
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