Michael Nhat - "Heads Filled Up With Toenails"

Drugs are great because when you get off them you wonder how you ever lived when you were on them. And when you get back on them you wonder how you ever lived without them.

I could see a spot out on the lake, in the middle of the lake, a dark spot. It was morning, the snow refreshed but that spot was not there yesterday. I finished my tea and swallowed the leaves, the bitter pattern left on my throat told my obvious future: cold. I geared up and trudged down to the lake, one woodpecker, one chipmunk, wood smoke. The sky seemed to grind its teeth. When I reached the shore, there was that spot. Seemed to be in the middle of the lake. The edges seemed solid, no prints, I walked out. The point was there, floating in my vision like a hair in the lens, like it wasn't part of the actual picture. My thirties were, after all, folded neatly in my back pocket, ready to show like wallet-size photos if anyone asked. I got closer to the spot, and out came the features: arms, buttons, slumped posture. I thought it could be a dressed snowman, but also knew at once that it couldn't be. A look at the slanted grey features told me it was real. It was half a person, sticking out of the lake. Perhaps the other half was stuck in the lake, perhaps the other half was the lake. An enormous ice tutu, or ice legs fifteen city blocks each.

I stood there and thought about a child's riddle. A detective finds a body in the desert, no footprints to or from, not dehydrated, how did he die and what happened in the scene? Why was there a detective in the desert? I thought, and watched my breath like smoke.

[the obtuse and sincere Michael Nhat continues his fervent output, PWYC]