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SERVED COLD
We had better hope that naturedoesn’t adopt that old adagethat revenge is a dish best served cold.Come to think of it, perhaps shehis toying with it now by her actionsgiven the climate changes we have wrought,And us always thinking nature wouldsomehow become subservient to us.But you can only defy the lawsof nature for so long,…
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BANG
His day ended much as it began, nothing happening. He wanted something to happen if only to break the eternal monotony. Yes, people came and went outside his window but that hardly counted as something happening. If one had taken flight, that would be something. If one instantly vaporized, that would be something. If the…
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LACKLAND
They marched us to the middleof nowhere, sweat running downour backs, our olive drab uniformsnow three shades darker. They handed us a rifle, an M-16they told us in class, with a 5.56round, it would tumble afterit hit its target, good for killing. We lay on the ground, shoulderedthe weapon, aimed it at thetarget, a bottomless…
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HE WAS
He was a writer. That is what he told people who asked what he did. Although he said it was what, no who he was. He said he wanted to be the sort of person that Stalin feared, a man of ideas, maybe someday, in an Alexieian world, charged with a crime of holding an…
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CARTOGRAPHY
On the map are neatly etched lines drawn by a fine stylus in a skilled hand separating blue from yellow. This soil is cinnamon there tending to mahogany no line, only a post here, one there and a gun emplacement to deter those who cannot see a line writ on water. In the wind the…
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ACT IV
He knew he should not have brought the gun. He hated guns, they served no purpose in his world of words. He wanted to look at it, to stare at it, really. He thought that if he did so he might be better able to write about the senselessness of the world in which he…
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an old writer and his words 