Leaf blower

Jimmy Chen

Were the sun not blocked by the clouds it would have borrowed two squirming worms to cast parentheses on the ground.

(And they would repent.)

My days of the same face stack together into an older version of myself. I have a name but rarely do I hear it.

This would be my ear )

The electric bill is on the table, my wife said one day. I'm taking the kids to the mall, she said another day. I feel sorry for you, she thinks some days.

Every day becomes a little more similar similar until something feels different different.

Were the clouds not blocked by the tip of my roof their true animal shapes might have rendered an airy circus in my mind.

(A crying elephant, my head in its anus.)

Rain your guts on us and find the way to the sewer. We are islands on an ocean. We are castles in a cave. I have a name but rarely do I hear it.

A wet leaf clings to a branch with a clear droplet swelling at the tip. It's like holding a chainsaw that doesn't have a point. Rmm rhmm, it says.

(Some people woke, some people didn't.)

Jimmy Chen lives in San Francisco and works at a large unnamed institution. He maintains a blog and archive of his writing at the Embassy of Misguided Zen.