Like a 10-year-old with illegal fireworks, I got the Dr Freud app. Now, I’m lying on my living room couch, while the dogs hang around, wagging.  Of course, the past isn’t what it used to be. I’m hungry all the time, and I have no idea why all the antimatter disappeared. Maybe I should be working on my credit score? I’ve always felt that a nest of snakes is an excellent case of unambiguous symbols. When the weatherman says it looks like rain, it does. Good news travels slowly. Case in point: yesterday, at this time, it was a day earlier. Teach a man to wish and he’ll dream for the rest of his life. No reason to get excited. In fact, the first thing the dead notice, even before they notice the top-down organizational structure, is the Chippendale furniture. Yes, it’s late, but it’s always late.


Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles, and lives in Boston. He is the author of three collections of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Rayde/tonations, and Momentary Turbulence. Two new books of prose poems are forthcoming in 2022 and he is also the author of seven poetry chapbooks.