by Adrian S. Potter

Once it arrived, I could no longer decipher between right and wrong. It was a delightful amnesia, fragmented completeness accompanied by anxious music. My intentions were deceptively honest, overly reckless. My soul hissed like a half-opened soda as I found myself falling in with thieves, becoming persona non-grata. I smelled like sex and whiskey, waited for the spell to break while embracing tension, the perpetual pull between desire and necessity. I sought disarray, a sermon from my soliloquy of personal mayhem, a door within me opening to a catwalk, towards impending disaster. Apathetic, anticlimactic, and antagonistic. But instead, I preached peace to the bedeviled. Whispered litanies of forged hopes. Instead, I slipped outside of reality and through locked doors, quietly.

Musical composition by Victor D. Sandiego

Adrian S. Potter writes poetry and short fiction. He is the author of the fiction chapbook Survival Notes (ńĆervená Barva Press, 2008) and winner of the 2010 Southern Illinois Writers Guild Poetry Contest. Some publication credits include North American Review, Jet Fuel Review, Obsidian and Kansas City Voices. He blogs, sometimes, at adrianspotter.com.

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Sanctuary This piece appears in Issue 7

1 comments refresh

By Victor D. Sandiego on Nov 16, 2017 18:09 (UTC)

Kudos to Adrian Potter as he brings his work to life with an evocative reading. His frank ability to reveal the narrator's frailties and vulnerabilities, as well as his eventual quiet redemption, is an example to us all. These volatile undulations of life are things that most can relate to.