Electric Windmill Issue No. 006 - Electric Windmill Press

THEN PUBLICANS RAISED HELLS LIKEWHITE ELEPHANTSby Gerald YelleWhat a breach: standing close in confessionand hearing how a brother smacked his child.The story, in harsh whispers, the detail in thetone: There’s no use pretending; the narratorno one you’d pull for. Nor are you (like thesmoker beside him) the audience intended–you’re a standby without status, lost on thefringe: One of the too kind. And it isn’t goodenough being good of kind or kind of good.An off-room lavender, felt more than seen. Thesilence of a brother. The idea that one can falloff a dock of reconstructed newsreels thatfill him full of sweating from the nostril, likea beast it’s best to pretend to be in love withbut suspicious of, thrilled when it slips, givingevidence that it might feel the same.15