This morning I couldn’t find an ounce of confidence in my costume Maybe it all began in the shoulder slouch or in the chest with a pinch Whatever the source no matter where it started it spread to the rest of the body I should return these scraps of rags and stitches none of it fits me anymore
Stuck in a reticulated landscape, hard to see if where I began to be lost, landmarks that I once adhered to have vanished and the zoom keeps changing from ant to God. The other users of this world want to smooth out the edges of our overlapping shores and regions, so we can make connections, strike deals for power and water. At least I can pile their requests and forget about responding to them, I need a moment to reorient to new categories in this space, even time is a bug that needs fixing.
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs atmirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel.