By Brad Rose
My brain is awake, my body asleep. It’s like the sun shining in the rain. I see things that aren’t there: next to the lake, angels eating breakfast; near the girls’ dormitory, dogs on fire. Who should I tell?
I like clouds—nimbus, cirrus, anvil—ghost-empty, fog-quiet, the slow march of the sky’s lonely prisoners. When I rub my closed eyes, I see black lighting. I dream I’m rain.
At the stoplight, I got out of my car and walked to the stranger’s car behind me. “Move over,” I told her. “I’m going to drive.”
Perfect weather for a storm.
Bio: Brad Rose is the author of a collection of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing, 2015.) His new book of poems, Momentary Turbulence is forthcoming in late 2017, from Cervena Barva Press.