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mather schneider

Mather Schneider is a cab driver in Tucson.

August in my Mouth
The locusts insist on their July electrathon and under the Nagasaki-rose of the sun a stray cat pounces on a lizard in the dust bites down on scales of rainbow like three thousand centuries forked in blind tail- thrashing terror. Death only has one lesson.

In the Retina-Tearing Sun
A black beetle crawls in circles on the pavement while three kittens torture it. It writhes and rears with big mean pincers not knowing what big white gods have torn down upon him. One by one they swipe their little killer paws. They don’t know the hunger yet the hunger will come later. The kittens sniff it when it doesn’t move anymore and then the bravest one leans down and bites it. There is a crunch like shell candy and a squirt of goo. The kitten shakes his head and rubs his mouth with his paw like a child taking his first sip of whisky and they all run away to mother’s milk kneading and kneading her fur.

A Giant Tree Screaming in a Thunderstorm
Gazelles stargaze on a calendar on the wall as I argue with a man on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. He chews his morals like fatback and spits them at me through the virtues of the computer age like a giant tree screaming in a thunderstorm. Lingerie models with little red ladybugs eyes stand ready to eat their mates as they wait tables and play records in studio apartments pretending they're artists. People do not want to be challenged, they want prepackaged blame, they want lives like shrink-wrapped board games. And across the sea the people are the same.

Holiness Hates Itself
like sour love flat soda sex memories like old cushions heads unlikely as intelligence vast sky anthill universe backdrop of icy nothing beyond hunger and satisfaction the death of the rock bruises space and tiny invisible worlds are left over in the purple air with my small melting humor and this call to you.