Real Humans

I’m trapped between a rug and a hard place. This shiny floor keeps reproducing. I’m clinging like barnacles to the sinking ship. It is always moving, but where is it going? The captain is a bat out of hell. Wizzing through dark caves. Are you always moving? Young folks watch Tik Tok. Then they break into spasms. During the dancing plague people danced till death. Popping out babies in the star nursery. Or exploding into small rocks. It is always busy. Deprive yourself of stimulus. Build your own isolation tank. Take a movement break. Unkinking the knots in my back. Sinking into the whirlpool of my wing chair. Waiting for the world to swallow me. My friends, it is hard to know what to think in the age of collective think. Hiding out here trying to become a real human. It is hard to tell if you enjoy it or pretend to enjoy it.

— MARCUS SILCOCK

Marcus Silcock (FKA Slease) is a surreal-absurd prose poet from Portadown, N. Ireland.  He co-edits surreal-absurd for Mercurius Magazine. His writing has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best Microfiction, and Best of the Net. His novel in prose poems, Never Mind the Beasts, is available from Dostoyevsky Wannabe and his book of surreal-absurd prose poems, The Green Monk, is available from Boiler House Press. Currently, he lives in Spain and teaches high school in Barcelona. Visit his site.