From the author: A cryptic piece I published almost twenty years ago that still has readers stumped (including me!) but it's weirdly compelling. Is it a poem? A story? A koan? A sinister recipe for disaster??
Nothing good on TV.
Dog growling at something on the patio.
Her fingers bleeding from all the
goddam Publishers Sweepstakes stamps, she weeps.
An improbable revolt
of harlots, historians, poets, and paleontologists.
They pass coded notes on park benches.
At night debate dogma in noisy cantinas.
One of us is a traitor.
The phones are tapped, our rooms are bugged.
A pale, nervous bureaucrat somewhere
doodles on your transcript, spills coffee on your life.
After supper, in a garden of pomegranate moonbeams,
the traitor sees his plans deflate.
Leaking reason like old balloons.
He turns the TV on to watch cartoons.
This story originally appeared in North Coast Review.