While You Wait | The New Engagement

While You Wait

By Genelle Chaconas
While You Wait story art

Quik Stop Laundry Donuts Coffee Liquor Arms Dealers and Meth Lab While You Wait is open 24 hours a day becomes 25 with us This advertisement read not through the translucent hologram leaflets that litter the city a perpetual freak hailstorm put them in your pocket the smirk flavor of amphetamine residue you swallow the sting of afterburn clings not to the lips but deeper in the bottomless mind of the organs once you saw a found poem the neurobiology collage plastered across the bloody steel grate floor of a Blitzkreiged credit card office building you raided one explicit page explained a cluster of brain receptors in the stomach a knot of exiled nerves in your intestines even now you try to imagine what it would be like to experience that impact that number of Gs imagine what would a body feel feel through every trajectory of the impact you ask yourself is there an army of the street vandalism artists who else would conceive this gory installation ask yourself do legends have flesh bod do they pulse out of streets gush ether from under you have already seen Quik its physical open channels of currency in its purest denomination follow the prod proxy of signs scarred into the detritus ascendant a temporal temporary neural codex of  input output direct to the mind realtime downloads  injected through past the muscle to the bones you knew of Quik Stop before it echoed through the locus prescriptions heard through the ground to mouth flow flux slip of the tongues follow their nox footsteps too hot thick and toxin thirsty to notice sometimes you appear as the nauseous spine of a rattlesnake you travel in instinct to this plexus Quik Stop the name found nowhere on granite top bomb sheltered like childhoods ends is not populated by people but the blurs of their words feet as hunger swarms you can track their travel motion as speed trails coherent storms of intention you watch speech with speakers off imprints appear on their furs venal musk scent speaks louder than words Quik Stop the appetites falling in simultaneous rise the rack of chemical signatures in designs complex compound chemicals bonds like the distances of profit each swallow the timetables of micro and macro labs the vintage of accelerated incineration sometimes you appear to yourself as a molecular understructure more intricate than architecture you ask why the most processed condition of subatomic alchemy and  answer yourself there is something primal about this substance the flush of its gnosis just under the skull surface shrill prickle you ask yourself is there a hungry flux to every consumption substance does it pass on its biological neurosis as defense against those above what layers of tox have pressured themselves to the top of this post-petrochemical food chain what are episteme-neurological top predators is every cell in this body the same bloodshed scratch scrape tooth cry screech slash kill struggle for survival alche-quor with its cultural furor of stylish criminality sometimes you appear to yourself in the shape of a crime not as the abstract concept as the details the raw spots of blood on lingerie bullet casings on a distant casino floor aces and 8 cards splay up on the tables shot glasses scattered in shrapnel points of indefinite light sometimes you appear to yourself as the stock death wielder the skinthin gangster that billows slick wet out of the silk jet alleyways ask yourself what is the appeal these ancient villains possess that archaic clench the lean ageless swallowed cadaver faces like the gods of wild dogs the ethereal aesthetics of desperate ravenous what is it about the wicked that make them the chiseled inheritors of might sometimes you have appeared to yourself as a cross sectioned natural selected sleek tremor of unknown muscle not lateral vertical but from the outwards in neither your credit nor your money’s no good here clean urine or blood samples spare organs lab reports and intact autopsies only sometimes you appear to yourself as a pattern of abstract growth in a meal of biotic fabric the polyps that erupt on your illusion skin are the flavor of dreams the arms dealers not only arms but other limbs every breed of overunderthrough human a thread of congeal syrup a circumvent split they’re called Defectors  in Plague City the post or pre evolved you pass every face the patient decay strain you ask yourself what are their fox exhaust resources what stores do they preserve have you crossed some quiver silverfished-skinned cousin in the thick sleet welter streets sometimes you appear to yourself as the nebula nerve ending the twin shape of anemones your money nor credits no good here your brain pattern waves DNA sequencing fingerprints voice identifications all these exchanged over the counter lax collateral no names nor questions asked RNA serial numbers optional sometimes you appear to yourself as the vicious flow of light pouring from one impossible terminal to the next Quik Stop the huff infection injections blackholed suns verbvisual fry the powder traced laced race lunge famine scour interior of a vein slicker burst color sometimes you appear to yourself the way it hits the base of your brainstem this impossible white avalanche outside is an outside beyond  past the fever pitched dark smuggled foot traffic in every corner of the blackout Plague City above the delusion striped climate domes above the orbits crosshatched with exoskeleton satellites outside of this is Quik Stop the unzipped weather is any hot fleshed hour of 25 outside the crystal shocks too unheard only you hear read find follow hunt the footprint clutches of long past tense brethren buy this can abide and wait for the next of the 25 hours all that matters is get there to Quik Stop Laundry Donuts Coffee Liquor Arms Dealers and Meth Lab While You Wait where neither your money nor credits no good but you can get anything you can pay for.

Genelle Chaconas is queer, feminist genderfluid, an abuse survivor, and proud of it all. Genelle Chaconas is a 2015 MFA Writing and Poetics graduate of Naropa University. Their first chapbook is Fallout, Saints and Dirty Pictures (little m Press, 2011). Their work has been published or is forthcoming in Zombie Logic, Burningword, Exposition Review, Milkfist, Image OutWrite, Bangalore Review, WT Paterson’s The Asylum, Former People: A Journal of Bangs and Whimpers, Menacing Hedge, Futures Trading, Crack the Spine, Weirderary, Dirty Chai, Third Wednesday, The Fem, Crab Fat Magazine, Door is a Jar, Five 2 One, Bombay Gin, Calaveras Station, Late Peaches: Poems by Sacramento Poets and others. They are a volunteer submission reader at Tule Review, and they hosted Red Night Poetry in Sacramento.

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Flash Fiction Contest
On May 1st, we announced the winners of our Flash Fiction Contest: Thomas Garcia (1st), Rick Krizman (2nd), and Rios de la Luz (3rd). Read more.

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