Neurotransmitter Ghazal
Joe Mantych
aug 2020
legs linger over precipices and fingernails never quite touch. a toddler pokes a tadpole with her toes. loose quarters scatter across synapses. children lick the bottom of Chinese takeout boxes. dented taxis drive from airports to suburbs and back again. anesthesia wanes in the floodlights of synapses. a doe moans on the side of the highway. a widow sleeps in the pews of a highway chapel. dust mites float between the gaps of synapses. plastic flowers melt in antiseptic waiting rooms. a hospice patient holds back a sneeze and faints. a labradoodle gags and heaves hot air in its synapses. divorce lawyers nibble on pastries and bet their paychecks on husbands or wives. two military officers knock on a farmhouse door. numbness clots her synapses. a stand-up comedian tightens a nylon belt in a closet door frame. a cocoon shivers and splits. migrating goldfinches flitter across graying synapses. the gaps in my head stretch and forge together, forgetting they belong to “joe mantych.” why wouldn’t they? i am only whatever is allowed to pass through my synapses.