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Life promises only one sweet memory
A single, glimmering happiness
The rest is a sea of chaos
He strives to find interconnectedness
There is meaning, there is purpose
In the endless, fathomless patterns
To his pain he only finds
A gruesomely pretty girl
Named pandemonium
With all of her makeup shades
Of gray and red
And her Mandelbrot curls
He falls in love with
Those icy eyes of chaos
It's probably infatuation
It's probably not even a girl
He can't help it
The voice, the whirling turbulence
Of her sonnets and her woos
In the end, in his bed
In the morning
He finds an empty pool
Of calmness and of cold
He wanders about his day
His spirit a mirror of the pool
Quiet, cool, alone, and
Fighting the currents of providence
They are her tentacles
Once again drawing him in
To her bed of infinite recursion
Of equations that are deceivingly simple
But that have such complex
Curves. . . .

 

Copyright © 2002 Jonathan James Price

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Jonathan James Price is a young working writer that lives in Northwest Indiana. He is an occasional poet, focusing mainly on writing science fiction. Currently, he is working his science fiction novel, Dreams of the Crimson Kitsune.



Bio to come.
Current Issue
26 Feb 2024

I can’t say any of this to the man next to me because he is wearing a tie
Language blasts through the malicious intentions and blows them to ash. Language rises triumphant over fangs and claws. Language, in other words, is presented as something more than a medium for communication. Language, regardless of how it is purposed, must be recognized as a weapon.
verb 4 [C] to constantly be at war, spill your blood and drink. to faint and revive yourself. to brag of your scars.
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