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At times I see them when I'm driving home from work on a back country road.

Glimpses of people walking across the path of my oncoming vehicle.

Legs and torso caught in mid-stride.

A disembodied head and shoulders, one arm waving as if to hail a taxi.

And then they're gone.

My car passes through them, past the places where they should have been, but weren't.

And I wonder if, in their time, in their world, in their moment, as they crossed their busy metropolitan street,

Or stood upon their concrete sidewalks window-shopping, they saw something too --

A fragment of a man in his car, hurtling headlong through time, a startled, curious look upon his face,

Appearing for a millisecond before vanishing into the city ether --

But they believed it to be only shadow, or mist, or a trick of the eyes between traffic lights,

And continued on without a second thought.

 

Copyright © 2000 by Kurt Newton

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With his blend of horror and the surreal, Kurt's poetry and fiction has appeared in numerous publications throughout the Small Press since 1993. Two chapbook collections of his verse are currently available. He lives with his wife and two children in the northeast corner of Connecticut. Visit his Web site for more information.



Bio to come.
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