? SLAB | Sound & Literary Art Book

Issue 8

Fiction

Rikki Santer

Probabilities: An Inventory


Footprint in a slab of stone,
the flattest moment of a sea,
a rook blindsides a queen,
cigarette smoke stuttering
in 80% chance of rain.
Secret bag of caramels in a lingerie drawer,
a postcard surprises with fractal confessions,
white lies lurk in the cavalier folds of promise,
the melody of a hyphen to uncommon degrees.
The way in is filament
for the way out:
fingers at attention in my rock paper scissors holster,
my fist rubbernecking knee deep in algorithms:
vindictive scissors.
Waiter, make my thinking malted,
a layer cake of spider webs made spicy
with the stuff of the world—
the nervous matter of my mind
seeking anchorage in the evening
and morning wardrobes of Venus.
The way out weighs in again:
venture into the pyrotechnics
of another thunderstorm
for the next parade
of lottery numbers
from the neighborhood
convenience store, shoreline
between predictable barbs
of fragment.