ARMS brandon freels

Enunciate! Don’t we all believe in ghosts, intuitively? I don't like talking to people I can't see. My thoughts always return to this. A Saint Bernard approaches me with an iPhone around its neck. There’s just one word translated on the screen: Earth. This is a friendly reminder that my body is shaking in the dirt. Is it the end? Is that all there is? I see God’s long tar appendage descending from the sun. Do you remember when you shattered my glasses? You were drunk. You grabbed them from my eyes and smashed them on the street. Do you remember the time I broke your arm? We were drunk. “Carry me,” you cried. I fell over. I was always falling with you on my back. Inside my body, a gremlin (or an angel) beats a television with a drumstick (or a remote). The gremlin (or the angel) smells sweet, like my fingers after they’d been inside your body. But who really looks at the sun anymore? If the world did, would they see God’s hand or go blind trying? Maggots and flies crawl in and out of the Saint Bernard’s mouth. Repetition is a part of life. Everything has an arm that reaches out, even this apple.