the beginning: the stork that was carrying me mistook a thought bubble for a cloud & ran straight into twelve h’s & twelve a’s. the stork died immediately.

the middle: french kissing in hallways covered in rosebuds, highlighting passages from a dictionary of dumb thoughts.

now: I spend my days selling life insurance to the ozone layer, to the midwestern soil, to skin so comely it gapes & writhes in front of every mirror.

the future: the feeling of falling as a laugh track plays on a continuous loop.




Lee Patterson’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in isacoustic*, Eunoia Review, and Ethel Zine. His chapbook, I get sad, is forthcoming from Ethel Zine Press. He can be reached at