"A Bird Bath On The Moon," "American Bricks Struggling With Zeno's Paradox," and "Lamp Worn"

A Bird Bath On The Moon


When Q-Anon’s

local representative

told me Edward Snowden’s

oligarch handlers


the Birds Aren’t Real conspiracy

to mock the bald eagle.


I expected

news of a noticeable

uptick in bird murders

would arrive

with my morning cereal


even though I haven’t

eaten a bowl

since the third grade

when I puked

into my Wheaties.


Since January 6th

there are connections

in the glare of the winter sun

that only exist

after you see them


but as the ground warms

around Q-Anon’s followers

they are addicts

without an organization

to acclimate them


a bird bath on the moon

armed to the teeth

with explosives.



American Bricks Struggling With Paradox


The first brick refuses

to buy a microwave

he says because

of the radiation

but I know his family

owns a toaster oven factory.


The second brick became

internet famous

for getting smashed

over the head

with a vanilla milkshake.

He tried to sell me a bottle

of Iverrmectin autographed

by Joe Rogan

but I don’t

have anything in common

with Matt Walsh.


The fourth brick

has a family history

of being the fourth brick.

Her grandfather was originally

intended for the Berlin Wall

but was redirected

to a blood bank in Detroit.

She refuses to see

the angle of her view

has shifted even though

she’s pivoting from the same place.

I asked her where she learned to moonwalk.


Brick eight sits on the toilet

retweeting Elon Musk.

He claims to be

advocating for free speech

and decentralized banking

but I think he just likes

smelling his own shit.


The sixteenth brick got on a bus

chartered to D.C.

but was left behind in Atlanta

when he went out for a cigarette.

I’m still trying to figure out

how he wound up

being thrown at a cop

in Boston.


Brick thirty-two is a paid informant

he took online swimming classes

when the pandemic hit

but almost drowned

cause his connection sucked.

I told him to adapt

his tin foil hat

to be compatible

with a 5G signal.


Brick sixty-four unwittingly befriended

an alt-right troll while volunteering

at a soup kitchen.

I’ve only ever heard them

talk about addiction.


Brick one twenty eight thinks

he’s doing it for different reasons

than his white separatist friends.

I told him that’s just mental masturbation.


Brick two fifty-six wants

to start a riot so widespread

we have no choice but start over

just so he can say he owned the libs.

He disappeared before I could respond.


Brick five twelve tried

to overthrow the government

but nobody seemed to care

or notice

their numbers have been doubling

for generations.



Lamp Worn


Your next life

will be the bookcase

where you shelve

all your previous selves


it will be easier

to pick up the phone


an audacious voice

will convince you  

Ted Danson's hairpiece

is an Ai

programmed to

make all your decisions


in the next episode

cigarettes will taste

like everybody

knows your name


there are plot devices


that haven't

been revealed yet


in the coming episodes

memories will gurgle

from the recesses

of your cacophony


your subconscious

will manifest

a petentiometer


field operatives

will tamper

with your belongings


there is a meal set out for the crew

—box lunch with wax apples


the bathroom doors are locked

no one’s sure

who freelancers work for


in your next life you will watch

re-runs of Cheers on your phone

as you commute


the phone number that will conjure

most like muscle memory

in your next life

has started seeping

into the definitions

of the episode

you are currently living


the numbers carry within them

the ability to evoke a pattern


that will bounce around

the trepidatious twitchings


of this cartoon     

you seem compelled

to draw yourself into


in the coming days

the dream you’ve been handcuffed to


will show itself

adjacent next seasons

intrepid jackals


in the next episode

rapid eye movement

will increase


Ted Danson's hairpiece

will break free of it’s programming


lamp worn

shadows and glue


radiating the confused frustration

of malignant singular focus



Norm! Norm!


Come Back To Your Stool



You know

we will

find you!



Jeff Taylor

Jeff Taylor lives with his wife and kids in Massachusetts where he is a union worker when he isn’t writing poems. Jeff has performed at universities, theaters, festivals, bars, coffee houses, and sidewalks across the east coast and is a member of the 2023 Lizard Lounge Slam Team. You can find his work in recent issues of The Bloodshed Review, BOMBFIRE, Oddball Magazine, Cajun Mutt, The Alien Buddha Get’s A Real Job vol.2, American Graveyard (Read or Green Books), and The New Generation Beats 2023 Anthology (National Beat Poetry Foundation). Jeff recommends donating to PEN America.


Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Sunday, June 4, 2023 - 20:05