A Cat Named CholeraThe rattling got louder. He waited for the brakes to scream in chorus; wheels to skid on their tracks; Public Address chimes; automated voices. Pretty soon, the train was shuddering past him and a hard gust of air threw a tabloid sheet against his face, ruffling his hair into obtuse angles. Justin blinked, whipped pages five and twenty seven of the Daily Star away and watched his reflection pummeled into the shaky rows of passing carriage windows. As the train thundered past, he watched himself flicker on and off on the iron-blue paintwork of the carriages, and greeted himself each time.A Cat Named Cholera
/Hello, me. Hello, me.../
A f
Slave ShipI dreamed of an anchor of a human head, gnashing the sea floor, spinal cord rope tugged taut, manic eyes frantic in the strain.Slave Ship
Above, the hull bellowed like a wounded ox felled by its own legs.
A white gull flew over the mast into a morning sun that lit the whole ocean ablaze
and
splashed red on the slave ship's flank as it rocked on guarded haunches.
StaticTV's on again.Static
Simon Cowell is a stroppy bitch. Slinging unscented
(you know)
into my living room. This is entertainment, America.
I get up, rip out the cable, turn out the lights, sit back, and stare at static.
Hours later, the scratching quits and its blizzard swirls into brilliant phosphor white freckles darting to and fro on ebony dunes. I won't claim I understand the patterns, or believe they have any meaning, or hear buried messages from demons or secret servicemen
--that would be crazy-- &
In BooksI see you over the tops of books and peeking round the corners of their crenelation. I'mIn Books
touching the small of their spine, straight and bold, unlike mine. They're wearing their names on their sleeves and only folding for me.
I slip my fingers between pages, spread them apart, and sometimes, behind this private screen, I read.
But no covenant stops my eyes from wandering your way even while I'm at it.
Let's discuss this barrier between us before we move on to me
Every ManHe's drunk, so I tease him about prostitutes. His suit jacket is hooked over his knee and his arms are around the back of the couch. Every now and then he loosens his tie; the knot is nearly at his navel. Shirt cuffs bunched comfortably around his elbows, the cufflinks forgotten on the floor, he works at his collar; several minutes (and several curses) later, he's freed two buttons and settled into a sprawl, long legs ending abruptly underneath the coffee table.Every Man
"Pros--prostitutes?" He's genuinely surprised. "Hookers?"
"The very same."
"Where for the--where in the--how--for the love of God what ever
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Literature Gallery Moderator
For Writers: Resource Central: Part One | Resource Central: Part Two
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Death is certain, Life is not...
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Fall down seven times, stand up eight.~Japanese proverb
God never leaves me. In my ignorance, I have frequently thought that I have left God, but that is altogether impossible.~Angelou
Plurality in interpretation is a sign of strength.~Nietzsche
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