In the Classroom of Infinite Sadness by S.T. Brant
All my life I’ve dreamt of gods.
Recently Published
I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
All my life I’ve dreamt of gods.
Why can’t I just go home and sit in my garden? Plant myself among morning glories and view the end through their tangled ascent?
Without the truck to hold it up, the battleship was settling beneath the waves.
Children play on street corners until the lights grow dim and the stars are visible like pinpricks on a bulletin board.