Audrey Hull

Don't underestimate, don't second guess
people for a second.
They're your flesh and blood, we're all
flesh and blood
and that's all we are.
And once that blood is gone, it's gone, and you'll be a goner...
So get up, and get out,
turn off your computer or TV
and get off your goddamn cellphone.
Even put down your book.
There's people out there,
there's a whole world, out there
full of flesh and blood and feelings
and fun...
Don't let it get away,
before there's no more seconds to spare.

Question Marks

Did I have some plan?
I don't think so,
your names all look alike, just like you all look
alike, innocuous or ignorant, does it matter?
Fate, or failure? Destiny or disappointing?
Does it matter? Is it matter?
Is there matter in antimatter? Is there stuff
in all this,
stuff?
I don't know.
But what is it I see in you, what is it I read
in you,
where, when did I learn to read
people, like books,
I wish I read, a little more often.
Do people have pages?
What if I want this book to go on forever?
I'm getting sick
of all these
question marks.
What's a question mark in Chinese, anyway?
Mandarin, Cantonese, whatever.
I don't even know if you're Chinese.
I'd like to think so, apparently,
but I'd also like to think that you could understand
every single word of this,
every gist, every supposedly-poetic notion
that I'm so reflexively throwing at you.
Catch?
Did I miss the mark?
Or was it just another question?

The dark jungle

"The dark jungle," Cusick exclaims,
finishing his thought.
No one replies
and I throw a book across the patio,
and Charging Hawk chases after it like a bone.
"Insufferable, ungodly," I murmur,
shielding my eyes as
he devours the pages,
"repulsive."
I turn to Cusick,
"What was it you were saying, Cusick?"
"Oh, I was simply commenting on how
Preiner has disappeared."
"Ah."
"It appears he was last seen, uh, shirtless and by all accounts,
feral, with blood
spread—smeared, across his chest."
"And Potvien?"
He sighs,
"Something about the bottom of a cross being sharpened, I'm not entirely
sure."
"Good God."
Cusick shrugs his eyebrows
and I look through the screen,
reminiscing,
"Hurley, Ettestad, they're all gone."
"Gonzo."
Charging Hawk looks up at me in a random, primal gesture,
"Are you the Antichrist? Are you!?"
He turns back to his book.
"Well, I suppose we should go looking for them."
"More cannibals?"
Cusick smirks, and glances towards Charging Hawk;
the pages ripping from the binding one by one.
"Intellectual," he adds,
and we guffaw into the afternoon.