Maroon rain terrifies the uninitiated in this futuristic hellscape of IRS and FBI and all the other 3 letter agencies of death and moral decay. The cyborgs hunt bunnies with lures of love, the sweet taste of carrots a distant memory. In the old city, remnants of humanity hawk their human wares. Behind me a lurid green ghost of electronic regret follows me everywhere, learning from my failures and noting them on a loudspeaker. Every time it calls one out, (numbered in the hundreds of thousands now) predatory basalt crows dive down and peck at me like philosophers of old.
Tag: science fiction
The End of the World
At my window,
A gun.
In my mind,
extraordinary sexual and living acts
Demonstrated in dark colors.
Then a great red bang.
********
The scales of the grain feed
Sway with an unconscionable math.
After the man’s house grows rats
to provide epidemics,
One will advise you at home while you die –
Grateful to be out of the hail of the heat.
Scifi Anthology
There have only ever been a few science fiction novels that I have really gotten into. But I love science fiction short stories. I also love volumes of horror short stories. I will start posting some of those ones to show what I have found to be good. I am just diving into this volume but I really like it. Lots of creative and interesting story lines.
I actually have several volumes of horror, Science Fiction, and Fantasy that I need to work through. I will probably right about those as I go. Then I’ve got this book called Year’s Best Weird Fiction. And that has some dark and strange stuff in it.
Scifi Poem
Wrap me in rain,
give me cool comfort like the
swirling of air from a fan over my legs
at bedtime so noxious and sanctimonious.
What strange aliens wait in the field behind the house,
gaudy in their multitudinous space ships?
Give me sweet succor and lay me down
in the pumpkin patch.
Let me grow vines to root me in place.
There is no sense in running.
And when the aliens come,
let their teeth already be sharpened,
their hands quick.
She
The machine is a tap dancer,
is silver,
has nightmares of rust.
She wears the moon on her face in a chalk.
She glows purple when she is near wisdom.
She glows purple among the trees.
The ribbon in her hair is forked,
tastes danger on the horizon.
And the robot who has been terrified to bathe for years
clicks his heels ever closer,
curious and cold,
while the ribbon hisses poison in her ear
Miniature Moon 