About the Feature

I don’t throw darts at balloons, I throw balloons at darts.
—Joe Montana


The invention of consciousness
was as brutal as it was the birth of the past
tense. The past itself not a place, but the echo
of a place. Placation, endless rearranging
and no tables to speak of. Memory
is a bag of grapes from the grocery store.

The supermarket does nothing for the depiction of chaos’ position
….in the universe.

We are a more durable smoke, or if you prefer
a more gooey fire. What I would really like
to know is what isn’t a moving target?
We are all concerned with the weather
of limitation. Power is made of mostly
overrated, what’s important is how we handle
the indignity, the reaction. Greatness: soft eyes
to see everything as a blurry whole, not to lull
in expectation, but to see opportunity in a world
where nothing is fixed. Between distance
and chaos there is free will, or if you prefer
something more ornate, there is the opportunity
for the staggering. But I digress, everything that does
not need you is real.

About the Author

Justin Irizarry is originally from Texas, but currently resides in Denver. He has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of North Texas, and an MFA from UNLV. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Pleiades, Third Coast, and Front Porch.