Wayne threw a right. The van slewed across the black road. He slammed the brakes, the sound of slack gravel. He pulled on the end stuck to his lips, gave the horn one long lusty honk with the flat of his hand, looked in the rearview, said, All out that's getting out! We were out front … Continue reading The Dead Meadow.
"Secret tests," was your whisper of the submarine halved in the harbour. Unable to contribute anything further, beyond eyebrow and frown and ear, I encouraged lightly-rolled papers and palm-flattened papers of star maps and numbers to appear. Sailors, once one fathom under, hum, one octave over an ancient incantation, through the iron and water: Summoned; rise up and disappear. … Continue reading One Fathom Under.
The Russian, recently bare, but now clad only in tiny vinyl shorts and flip-flops, was telling me all about how the dog days came to be called the dog days. Apparently it had to do with the stars, or the trade winds, or something. I tried to concentrate on the words, but he tended to … Continue reading Breadknife To An Iceberg.
Some years later. He pulls the peacoat collar up over his ears and, head down, takes heel to the bottom of the street. Folk still whisper as he passes, but less so these days. They grow old, they float away, they die. He lives with the memories of that night; the sky more white star … Continue reading The Lookout.
I took the train home from the airport. It was the same journey as it had been earlier, except that now it was in reverse and I was alone, reflecting. The cloud was cold against the glass, a jet plane rose into the cumulus brew. I set my face, my ear really, against the window … Continue reading American Clouds & Greyhound Shapes.
i'll wear your clothes to protect me, to feel like you do. humming vaguely in the bathroom, i will pause at the glass, hexed. exchanging a borrowed view. we really should get going soon.
