A Broad Swathe Of Lawn

[Robert Crisman]

A smile out of time--and there we were, out of time as if shot from a blowgun.

Viraan's laughter echoed...

I dropped down a tunnel, a tunnel of images gleaned from infinity's grab-bag, shadowed and lasered as they whipped on by: times, faces, places, old friends, San Francisco, Cro-Magnon rictus on skulls atop mantels in flops on the Upper West Side...

The images bit me, caressed me, grabbed at my dick; they pieced me off atom by atom and stuck my face inside some ten million mirrors, built for the look-goods after the war, and staring out now were ten million guppies unable to breathe.

I saw L'amea, Elaa, and Helaas, and Danee, sliced and diced, tumbling and bleeding, blooming vermillion that painted a sky which appeared in the west with a click of the devil's own shutter.

And then at last I came to a town in this tunnel, a bell tolled off midnight, and I stood intact at the edge of a broad swathe of lawn, dressed for the ball in a linen tuxedo, and there I waited, as if for the very last lesson that life has to offer...

[Mike Handley]

I feel privileged to read this. I sometimes feel like you're writing just for me and Angela, but then I realize that artists must create, if  only for the joy it brings them. This work of art grabs at my dick.

[Angela]

You have done a fantastic job of showing striking, convincing, emotional action in a stripped down, yet completely NOT sparse way.  I love this post.