Climate Change · Brad Rose

It’s not hard to get lost in the Insomnia islands. Everything is on fire there, as usual, although sometimes, I wish I was left-handed, so I could make some new mistakes. Sherry says, I shouldn’t make any hasty judgements. Her eyes are the color of pale blue veins, her hair as beautiful as a snake’s. At the Come-on-Inn, an unruly customer refused to leave at closing time. Upon the arrival of the local constabulary, a number of patrons complained of his aimless bouncing and archaic dancing. It was untimely, one angry customer fumed. It provoked anachronistic weeping, another added. You might be surprised to learn just how many industrial secrets are stolen annually. Many claim it’s merely innocent shoplifting, others say it’s better if we keep our mouths shut. Some days, the hot days are colder than the cold days and the cold days are warmer than the hot days, although I prefer no weather of any kind. I think we may all be owed an apology. Of course, it’s not redaction, if it’s merely crossed out. Yesterday, as I was practicing my cinematic technique, the room grew darker than a night flight to Guantanamo. Sherry said, Don’t you think you should get some sleep, Aron? I reminded her, The ocean is on death row, the continents burn like pyromaniacal Boy Scouts, and almost anything might happen, next. I just wanted to check with her. Make sure she felt comfortable with it.


Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles and lives in Boston. He is the author of three collections of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing, 2015), de/tonations (Nixes Mate Press, 2020), and Momentary Turbulence (Cervena Barva Press, 2020). His fourth collection, WordinEdgeWise, is forthcoming in 2021 from Cervena Barva Press. Brad’s website is: bradrosepoetry.com