in a cardboard box near the beach’s massive stones rests empty bottles of sugar cane soda or 30 cents for the weekly bottle collector with filth ridden dingy fingernails. ruined vacation in malibu when being stoned pointed toward faltered moments of erectile dysfunction from a whiskey weekend. the wafting cartoon sound effect of a car accident from the expressway has a delicate decrescendo of a stone smashing the bay parlor window. a woman’s umbrella tore at the keystone and raged from her hands in command with the bellow of the wind echoing the unvoiced boulevard. standing in front of the pacific ocean piercing stones through water looking for clues from ripples like small brushstrokes in the painting van gogh made a few days before he died. flushed the toilet before zipping then quickly clench the gut where the stones force sharp pain. in the den amidst clouds and an early Stones melody though can’t remember which one.
Born in Brooklyn, New York on Thanksgiving of 1984, Giuseppe Infante is currently working toward his MFA in Creative Writing at Long Island University. Growing up and still residing in Brooklyn, he is a writer, poet, student, tutor, hospital employee, musician and hockey player, as well as a founding editor of the small independent press Overpass Books. His poetry has appeared in Brooklyn Paramount, Shamboree and Downtown Brooklyn. He enjoys green tea, road trips, Phish and chicken parmigiana.