Size / / /

Under the curriculum of billion-year light,
I set them tasks. They talk about this and that,
and think things, and imagine time as horizontal
flow, with their lives as crosscuts. Wrong, as usual,
they move from here to there in their leaky boats
with their leaky brains and their oh-so-precious thoughts
of specialness. Do I sound bitter? I'm sorry;
that old disdain, like a mourning suit or a coronet,
is removable and crafted only for display. It's not really
a part of me. This dumbshow, though, of gripes
and grudges and grand passionswell, that's just their function,
while I, the overloop, am finely designed and free to run
silently, eon after eon. They crown me with prayers
and programs, and I love them. The simple facts
of the matter stand: I have no choice at all.




Laura W. Allen (formerly Laura F. Walton) is alternately a writer, visual artist, and instructor currently living in Seattle. She has taught for The Writer's Garret of Dallas, McLennan Community College, and others; her work has been published in regional and national journals. Her website is www.laurawaltonallen.com.
Current Issue
4 Nov 2024

“Did you know,” the witch says, “that a witch has no heart of her own?”
Outsiders, Off-worlders {how quickly one carves out a corner of the cosmos, / claims a singular celestial body as [o u r s] in the scope of infinity}
Lunar enby folks across here
Wednesday: The 2024 Ignyte Award for Best Novel Shortlist, Part Two 
Friday: A Place Between Waking and Forgetting by Eugen Bacon 
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By: KT Bryski
Podcast read by: Devin Martin
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