Saturday, August 24, 2019

Friday, August 23, 2019


TOC of the next Star*line: beaucoup speculative poetry

One of the editor's choice poems is by me (you can read it at the link).


Only when it was too late, Billy and Susie realized that the entire field was made of a peculiar gluey form of mousse to a considerable depth.


Brazil's President Wants To Destroy Everything (get in line)

The last generation,
not really the last,
but the last with any hope,
any hope of enough food,
clean water, safe places to live,
life that's worth living.

The last,
until, that is,
another species lifts itself up
by its bootstraps,
imagines it can do better
than 200,000 years.
The bar is low.



Some naked thing,
Fumbling towards dawn
With a torch in its hand,
A sharpness on the feet,
A chill, goosebumps,
The rough wood on its skin.

It has no speech, not yet,
It will remember nothing
Of this, after words come,
Writing over these first
Sensual memories
That will never be accessed again,
That first there was something,
Then, something more,
And then: everything!

Thursday, August 22, 2019


The computer's alive! Soon I can finish DN 113 & send it to the printer. Probably this weekend.


skating on thin ice
at the lunar pole