DREAMLESS

Glass smashes against the floor like so many protons in a Hawking/Korona black hole simulator. Clawing screams and torn audio links grind everyone's ears into analog powder. The fattest nightclub on the island is suddenly hotter than a suicide MindVid!

If I would've brought my thumb-cam, I could be getting all this on chip. Would've been worth a fortune - or at least an extra gig of hypespace. Another Pullitzer lost.

I peer from behind an overturned table as two more uniformed thugs bust through the door, announcing from hip-mounted speakers that everyone should remain calm, get down on the floor, and shut up.

Their commands have no appreciable affect on the hysterical crowd… not until they let loose with their knuckle-bored 258 gattling fists. Once half the lights in the joint are shot out, people start to quiet down.

That's when I notice this tangle-haired teenager streak out from behind the fried speakers on the edge of the stage…

Landscape

The landscape has changed.

Once it was muscled and flexing,
the infinte curve of new experience.
Playing upon this body
of touch and response,
I kept one reckless journal of it
on the tip of my tongue,
knowing I could never forget.

But memory has sagged.
The curve repeats itself.
Touch has given way to longing.

The tongue of the marshlands
Serves only the stars
As it sways in this night mist.

Words and wishes are mixed afresh
Writhe in the wetlands
Teach me to finish this work

Stand with the mountains once more
At my back

The memories
Stashed and secret.