Read More: A brief interview with Heikki Huotari
The Second Opinion
On the edge of Texas stars are dark and small. You’re walking backwards as reluctantly as is the multicolored horse, as if you had no shoulder in the world to cry on, and what’s simple now is to be complicated later, resolution of no paradox and key to no known lock. O Imperfection, Patient of Teresa, you may also be a child of God – don’t throw that medical device away.
Leaves of Absence
I, defining twilight, undertake to spin but slide. My synonyms are symptoms and by quarter turns of phrase my meager contradictions span a chasm. On the tree of needless feelings hangs an artificial heart and I shall know the rabbits by the rabbits in their hats. Potential energy is dissipating, so regret.
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When there is no pledge there is no precipice so I’ll be in pursuit of happiness or if I can’t take happiness then I’ll take liberty or if I can’t take liberty then I’ll take life so when you leave my line of sight please activate another of my senses – I’ll be waiting for your reappearance. Meanwhile curing concrete, prying off the forms, I’ll take whatever faith is on display. I’ll dot my i’s with hearts and sign a perfect stranger’s name. There are no laws of limitation, no internalized proscriptions, and when my jalopy stops I’ll simply take the plates off then stick out my thumb.
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In a past century Heikki Huotari attended a one-room school and spent summers on a forest-fire lookout tower, is now a retired math professor, and has published three chapbooks, one of which won the Gambling The Aisle prize, and one collection, Fractal Idyll (A..P Press). Another collection is in press.