By Bruno Talerico
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1. Human actions,especially collective human actions, always have consequences, expected and unexpected. 2. a. Is it possible to share a foxhole with a wolf and survive? b. What happened to the fox? 3. WTF? © 2026 Bruno Talerico19/365.
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I have not locked my doorssince I moved here eight years ago.I deadbolt the laundry room doorbecause it can blow openwith a strong gust of wind. I live on four acres in a semi-rural areaon the grassland of southern Arizona, surrounded by mountains, visited less by peoplethan by quail, javelina,and the local bobcat. A few…
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It’s time to cauterize the flag,prepare the fabric for new symbols. No more untrue blue.No more blood red.No more bleached white. It’s time for a flag of human colors.Pink, brown, yellow, tan—unbleached colors that don’t hide bruises. A flag of friendship.A flag of diversity. It’s time to redesign. No more straight lines.No more uniform stars.…
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Satire is contempt for truthlaundered into etiquette,for insulated conversations spokenas if consequencesare only hypothetical. We laugh at satirenot because we are entertainedbut because we recognize the truthwithin the joke. Satire enters the spacewhen polite languageand facts have failed.It is disdain for hypocrisy. Calling it comedymakes it easier to brush away,but ignorance is not a punch…
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Despite their poetic nature,poets are unpoetic beingsliving far from poetic lives,filled with dirty dishesand awkward conversations.They experience anxiety and insomnia,highs and lows of love, rage,wind that keeps them awake.Reaching their limit,they retreat and, like turtles,they pull into the quiet safetyof their inner landscape.To process.To analyze.To prioritize. To prune.Emerging with nothing morethan clipped lineson worn pages.Proof…
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Last night: a lunar halo—a ring around the moon,last night: a storm warning,last night: an omen.Todayyou endedone of your lives.Todayyou stopped purring.TodayI dug your gravein a spot next to a treewith a mountain view for your next eight lives.© 2026 Bruno Talerico13/365
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Letting GoBeneath an ancient juniper tree,smoke, like incense,drifts toward starlight.I flicker, fade, and char,aching, amorous.Will passion followthis feathered breath?Or has it dissipated?Embers of sun.glow in my heart,charcoal and my petrified teethare the only remnants.© 2026 Bruno Talerico 12/365
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My name isBruno Richard Talerico,same as my dad’sand great-grandpa’s. I never met my sister Christineand I never will.She died during childbirthwhen I was not quite six years old. Mom and Dad were heartbroken. They wanted the comfortoffered by a proper wakeand burial in the cemetery whereother family members rest. But she wasn’t baptized. The priestwould…
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You can dream and plan all you want,but there is no map.There is no chart that accountsfor the dry spring, the flash flood,the extra miles you didn’t mean to hike. No one knows for certainwho they will bewhen they reach the other side. Between the person you areand the person you will become,something unforeseen will…
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Your loved one comes home, removes mask and body armor,puts weapons in the gun safe, places boots next to the door.It’s been on the TV news all day,sound leaking into the kitchen—headlineson the screen in the next room.They hug the kids,notice the smell of pot roast,smile at you and ask, “What’s for dinner, honey?” They…
Desert Dweller 