UNTO by Glenn Armstrong

There is only me contrasted with everyone

and everything else. I don’t go to Scottish

games and log toss. I identify as being

separate. That includes so-called connectivity

and your feelings. Not to be a cad, 

just unto myself. We’re alone beyond

the illusion: bawling, sour-faced newborns

seeking to hide before being classified, 

stamped, and turned loose as statistics. 

Glenn Armstrong enjoys reading old pulp fiction and piloting the way back machine. The result is sometimes poetry. His work has appeared in The Beatnik Cowboy and The Rye Whiskey Review, among others. He lives in San Diego.