Man in a block of ice by Gregory Zorko

I am a metal hoop and other humans are George Gervin. Anything
before 1976 is like the Old Testament to me.
The ancient mutilators were better at mutilating. I’m like an
athlete who loses his legs as an excuse to sit out. And before you were
born you were already the victim of humans. The Pharaohs believed
that they were once lightning bugs.
Straight lines can make me nervous. In Varaždin we ate potato
chips and spoke about the vagrancies of language. The past treats you
like a kitten. The past treats me like a crush. In that place our histories,
and our trials, were two stationary rainstorms in chairs, watching.


My name is Greg Zorko. I like poetry, fiction, history and basketball. Some of my work has appeared in NANO Fiction, Busk, Squawk Back, and TheNewerYork. I have some work forthcoming in Thunderclap Press and Emerge Literary Journal. I live in upstate New York.