Four Poems

by Michael Prihoda

next

another bag of garbage
taken to the basement
and I —conveniently—
forget what happens
next.

the big nothing

easy as I left.
until my hand
brushed
the center console
without finding yours
and my eyes
kept crossing paths
with the odometer
counting larger
and larger numbers
until I began
to understand
how big
this (only beginning) nothing
could be

chewing

apathy in the face
of a chewing llama.
he could eat
as well as not
and we could live
as well as not,
nihilism rampant
as our cracking eyes
wake slow from
self-imprisonment

the reason for our forty million fantasies

prolonged
interest
in what
doesn’t exist
because it
cannot
disappoint
us

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