 | Gray Brian Thomas is a 3-time member of the Salt City Slam team (reaching semi-finals stage twice with this team), and current member of the Wasatch Wordsmiths. He has been published by Tired Hearts Press, Unshod Quills, and enormous rooms. Gray tries to be a nice guy most of the time, but most people think he comes off as a tad exasperated. Until recently, he had a large moustache which he had to set free to obtain employment. He has very little skills other than reading as well as folding and refolding small pieces of paper. His heart and eyes are keen and his words and phrasing are precise, he is a Salt Lake City poet. |
| Amper Sand You use ‘&’ instead of ‘and.’ I thought you were trying to be ornate or cummingsesque. Now I believe it’s because ‘and’ is too similar to ‘end’ & I know how you hate goodbyes. ‘&’ serves as a conjunctive joining two words that belong together. Peas & carrots. Bite & burn. War & peace. Even if they’re opposites, ‘&’ interconnects them, as though ‘&’ represents andinaway resembles the way limbs intertwine after a couple of drinks, piles of cigarette ashes, innuendoflirtations; limbs become ‘&.’ There’s a ‘however’ in this explanation, some where. Nomatter how ‘&’ these words get, they forever remain separate, remote. Neither can figure out why they’re sofarapart despite longnights of intertwined limbs. Peas wonders why carrots keeps edging away. Bite wonders why burn won’t kiss her. War wonders why Peace won’t stay the night. Per haps be cause these words will never be ‘nevertheless’ will neverbe ‘sunset.’ willneverbe ‘sweethearts.’ Their know ledge of temp oral, flee ting pass ions leave them dis con sol ate. Nomatterhow awe struck and impasse ioned they be come witheachother theyknow brow beaten, theyknow heart break, theyknow after shocks, theyknow Ineverwanttoseeyouagain. & they under stand thechanceof another fare well, an other solong, goodbye, the &. | Question Mark I have been trying to unbend all of my question marks so they will look like exclamation points, and thus there will be no more uncertainty, only excitement. My palms have become blistered, my finger tips callused from my attempts to place the paper fibers into a more satisfying alignment. All of my questions have now become awkward exclamations, such as “Who do you think you are!” “What is the meaning of life!” “You’re pregnant!” And now, there’s no longer a need for answers. Just celebration. - Since I have started unbending all of my exclamations points, I’ve been wondering how I can unbend other curves in my life. If I could straighten out my last lover’s hips which resemble the curves of the question mark, I could actually become excited about the act of making love rather than feeling alone and depressed with the thoughts of that this is quite possibly the last. Or, I could straighten out my 82-year-old grandmother’s back so that she could live the remainder of her life in comfort and jubilance rather than taking small, careful steps through her living room forced to gaze at the floor as though looking for the tiny fragments of her life that slowly broke off and disappeared into the worn fibers of the carpet. Finally, if I could straighten out all the curves in my life, I could straighten out that drunken 80 mph bend in the road coming down the canyon, and you would be here with me tonight and we could still go shot-for-shot yelling obscenities at each other from across the room and still dancing and dancing like idiots, like death isn’t lingering with his heavy breath on our shoulders, instead I am sitting here, alone, drinking by myself, staring at the wall, pushing paper fibers into alignment, and asking your ghost “What the hell were you thinking?” |
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