George Kalamaras
Shamanic Meltdown

The Siberian shaman appears flute-like in his recompense.

I know his ecstatic toad like I know the ice shelf to which he is impacted.

The College English article said something about socio-epistemic demise.

There are groundhogs with a deeper sense of pedagogy.

Sometimes when I take vitamin E, I imagine a second skin of walrus blubber protecting me.

Yes, I feel naked, especially when you eye me while sucking a blood orange.

I heard the shamanic sound like an ontological meltdown.

The Peruvian shaman had come to Fort Wayne and had given me maca the year before to heal the inflammation.

If I fail to smile when your thighs swish past, it is because of my lack of a fixed sense of self.

If I knew your name, I might be held accountable for an unforgivable fantasy.

Sure, we grow up and in doing so sometimes move far from the hut.

When he played his maraca and sang to me and scoured my pain-body, I knew I’d never again be the same.