there once was a farmer who always saw the sunrise, he died in a weird experiment with mosquitoes and bees.
once was a pilot with nowhere to go who invented chess.
once was a student who coveted manhood, he developed a new way of looking at time and space but was completely penniless in the cold north for thirty years.
once was a psychopath who somehow managed to channel all his anger solely at roaches.
my uncle once climbed into an encyclopedia and never came out.
someday they’ll rename some regeneration right and isolate this thing.
nobody can trick that farmer because he is pure energy, he can harvest at will, as needed.
once was a soldier who could never blow up no matter how many minefields he stomped through. he smoked opium with jesus.
once was a choreographer with paralyzed legs.
once were three sisters who died in alphabetical order of oxygen deprivation.
once was a Tibetan monk who breathed into two of them before he too passed out.
once was a good night, a parable on love.
Peter Schwartz ’s words have been featured in PANK, Wigleaf, Opium, and the Columbia Review. He’s also an artist, comedian, and dedicated kayaker. More at: sitrahahra.com.
Photo credit: gracey, morguefile.com