Lit-zine
JU
Stray Thought
JD DeHart
Monster Arrives
The Gaggle
Minotaur Next Door
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. He has recently been nominated for Best of the Net, and his chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available on Amazon and from RedDashboard. See also, http://jddehartwritings.blogspot.com/ and http://spinrockreader.blogspot.com/
My thought, a wounded stray animal
roams from place to place like the haggard
voice of a tired man on a radio, playing
lighting in another room.
The story is the same.
I am not sure how some people stop
thinking about something, how they snap
the fuse closed, as if they wet their finger
and thumb and extinguish a concern.
I replace my thoughts, so this stray who moves
from one side of the universe
to the other will ultimately be transformed
into a completely different creature.
Features will blend, feathers will become
scales or vice versa.
What used to be a stray will be captured
and then sit in a cage, reciting
with the same story, the same worn voice.
Fear not, the monster is back.
Or fear.
He went away to a concrete landscape
where the tall buildings made him dizzy.
The monster got great mileage.
He does not like looking straight up.
There was at least one stop for a meal
of chili and a t-shirt.
Many people met him on the street,
not knowing the truth resting under
the movement of skin. They faced him.
Now the monster has returned, but
he’s tired of being a monster. His fur
was cool in the north and now feels
warm and uncomfortable again. Sweat
drips. He knows he’s changing and this
time it’s not just the moon.
Trying to sleep, the voices
outside come crashing into dreams.
There’s been alcohol involved
judging from the level of laughter.
Not sure if there’s a goose convention,
a gathering of bachelorettes,
or what’s going on here, exactly.
A tumbler of whiskey sits on a table
in the hotel hallway, and a gnat
attempts to swim in it. Who knew
that insects enjoyed whiskey.
Voices move up and down the hall
all night, adding to the discomfort of
whatever a pillow defines. Adding
to the late night meal rising in the back
of the throat.
Adding to the sense of a new place
and unfamiliar event the following day.
Used to be, he lived in the labyrinth.
But you probably know that story.
First, he tried to a quiet life in the
mountains. But the old failures haunted
him. I need people, he thought. He
was wrong.
Now he flicks channels all day. There
have been a few dates over the years.
They usually go running away.
He’s attempted to leave the myths behind,
but is haunted by his own immortality.
Used to be, he lived in the labyrinth.
It was made of stone and could be travelled
by foot.
Now the maze is in his mind, the movements
of escape not quite as certain.