There were golf balls in my head,
my sparse scalp stitched over the bag of my brain.
i rattled as i walked, so i sat down embarrassed.
they pressed upon the roots of my teeth.
my vision variegated into hexagonal dimples.
i lay in a downy bed
by the lack of the crack,
the crutch drugs.
my boiled brain cooling off,
the fumes of electrical welding
course through me.
forty eight! forty eight!
he kept yelling into my tympanic membrane.
the golf balls were bingo balls now,
and he had taken a wet one from my mouth.
but my ticket said forty seven.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.