VARIOUS PLANS FOR SUCCESS

KEVIN POPOVICH

Various Plans for Success

Kevin Popovich

Chipped Tooth Press

September 2014

Preface

I am the big bad wolf

who swallowed the sun

So that the moon could

have its turn in the sky.

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HUNT HUMAN BEINGS.HARVEST THEIR HEARTS.CONSUME THEIR HEARTS.ACQUIRE THEIR POWER.TAKE NO PRISONERS.LEAVE NO WITNESSES.BECOME SUPREME OVERLORD.

Plan A3

A Morning Routine

Every morning at 6:30 I wake up in a cold sweat.I check the time and reach for my cigarettes.I watch the smoke trail through the breaking sun that is trying to force its way into my bed.I check my messages- there are none.Find the clothes I wore the day before and stumble through the bathroom door to the toilet to “expel waste.”Stagger back to bed so I can watch more smoke trail up to the ceilingand look at the way the plaster fits together like seashells do at low tide.The sun is already poking at my eyelids and I wish that it would expand alreadyand engulf the earth instead of this half-assed attempt to ruin my morning.

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Childish

I stuck my affections on her fridge like a macaroni painting.I pushed her into the water to be the reason her synapses panicked.I made sure to sit next to the spot that she would take.I gave her my juice and she threw up on me.“Love at first puke”I grew up after that.We learned that sweating in bed alone is much worse than sweating on somebody else. It is easier to break somebody’s heart than it is to shatter a TV screen. Breathing in the results is equally harmful in either case.I grew up, but all I ever wanted to do was break things.

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7 Not-So-Deadly Sins

I forgot that she was taken and so did she.I take what’s not mine and keep what is.I stay in bed to avoid responsibility.I choked him in the middle of the street until he was purple.I am jealous of the way she makes me feel so small.I drink all the milk when I come home.I’m proud of all these things and I am going to be unbreakable. I’m not dead yet.

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Your fists clench and your muscles tighten inanticipation of a shock not unlikeplunging your head into a bathtub of ice.Ears ring so loud they drown out the soundOf bone on flesh. You forget how sharp teeth can be, and soon enough skin tears andit becomes entirely unclear whose blood is on your hands.Primal instinct kicks down the doors of reason and everything goes black.All that waits when your senses return is snapped joints, dried plasma,and a sense of doubt regarding why any of this happened in the first place.

Sore Knuckles7

hope above all elsethat she will eventuallycome back over anddrink all your wineand fall asleep nextto you again. Wait.

Plan B87

Missing the Point

the summer the sun seeped into my skin, my great- grandmother wondered why her husband was in a box.

I spent all my money on shatterproof bottles of gold, my classmate-friend was hit by a car,

I stuck pins in a world map with dental floss be-tween, and my absent- father asked me if I believe in God.

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Recipe for a Good Time!

Ingredients:Whiskey, 1.75 ozAromatic Bitters, 1 dashMaraschino Cherry, De-stemmedOrange SliceSugar, 1/2 tspClub soda

Method:Muddle orange slice, cherry and sugar.Fill glass with ice.Add bitters and whiskey.Finish with soda.Stir.Drink.Repeat until you think you might be happy again.Continue until you are absolutely sure that you will not be.Pass out somewhere that isn’t your own bed.

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Saboteur

I put tacks in my shoes and never took them out.I wince every time my feet touch solid ground.I thought it would be wise to wedge razorblades under my fingernails.I would have an excuse not to hold hands in pub-lic.I disregard the emotions of others because my therapist told me thatI should really be focusing on myself right now.That was 5 years ago, and since then all I have to show for it is that I have learned to take what I want despite all protestations, petitions and pleas. I can at least say that I am trying to be happy.

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Plan C

Avoid your ex-lover. Please.Stop hurting her. She cares.Quit smoking. You’ll breathe easier.Drink less. It isn’t helping.Get out of bed. Exist.

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We had the gall to believe thatwe could be the masters of the seaand we were, until the wrathful tempest descended from the skies.Rain fell as hard as ice and cut skinas though we had angered Poseidon with our ar-rogance.Wind blew in from behind us totear at sails and shatter masts.Commands were crushed beneath its mighty roarand chaos fell upon us.Soaked to the bone and with rope cutting into our flesh,We fought on.The North Wind bellowed and the sea rose to meet its call.Men were swept from the deck and lost to the black depths.The sea-god reached up from the deepest chasm that night and dragged each of us to our ends.Seawater filled lungs.Skulls were splintered by wood and pressure alike.Yet here I float clutching the wheel that had failed to steer us home.I had never let go.I am treading water but all I wish foris to be with my crew again.

Poseidon’s Vengeance17

A year spent in your magnificenceyour grime and beauty commingledA year spent under your skinyour pests and melodies intertwinedA year spent inside your heartyour clumsiness and grace conjoined10 minutes spent passing throughknowing not to stopYou were home once and you willbe sweet again.

On Seeing Home for the First Time Since Leaving

1817

I will be the woodsmanwho cuts the sun fromthe belly of the wolfand puts it back above.

Addendum

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Kevin Popovich is 21 years old. He lives in Providence, Rhode Island and studies Culinary Nutrition. Kevin tries to explore themes that are pertinent to himself and hopes

that those who can relate find his writing to be honest and sincere. When he isn't sleeping or studying he can be found cooking, playing music or nose deep in a cocktail.

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