It's true that two hummingbirds singing in exactly the same pitch can shatter the blackest of mountains. But it's also true that the missiles in those mountains can shatter a hummingbird to pieces of hummingbird. The end. But this curled mess of black yarn, this series of concrete barrier entanglements, means that we have to be ready for no matter what, for whatever might befall us—hummingbirds, missiles, those drugged-out runway models. I'm telling you man, we know each other like we know the ghost knowing each other, and I'm so fucking grateful I could fly a kite about it: this terrifying state of the seasons, this half-baked smell of church. I lurch forward to go backward, awkward to go on the record. I just can't get over those blues at the window. And the tiny bit of yellow, like cats' teeth spitting sparks. How lucky we are to have light, how marvelous to scribble over fate. The reason it's good to have faith is the reason for everything good.
From WOLF FACE, published by H_NGM_N Books. Copyright © 2012 by Matt Hart. Reprinted with permission of the author.