Size / / /

This thin layer

This film, oily and black

Flecked with mica

Locked in the ground

An estimated 6.2 million years

(+/- 1.7)

Their world-spanning culture

(We find the layer in 7 of 10 planetary domains)

Distilled.

Reading molecules

Plucked from nacreous spheres

We can build Them

In body and spirit

If not in memory

Our biochemical keys fit fossil locks

These ancient masters

Or maybe one of their pets

we will know when we give it

A Turing test

If it passes

We will really have something!

Oh yes,

A true alien intelligence

Rescued from the late Miocene

And educated

With all the care we can muster.


David Kopaska-Merkel describes rocks for the State of Alabama. He lives with artists and numerous chitin-clad hangers-on in an urban farmhouse with a yellow "tin" roof. He was born in Virginia, but has lived in the home of the crookneck as long as anywhere. David's poetry collections include The Egg Show, Separate Destinations, and underfoot. Flash fiction can be found at www.dailycabal.com; find more of David here and here. He may also be reached by email at jopnquog@gmail.com.



David C. Kopaska-Merkel won the 2006 Rhysling Award for a collaboration with Kendall Evans, edits Dreams & Nightmares magazine, and has edited Star*Line and several Rhysling anthologies. His poems have appeared in Asimov’s, Strange Horizons, and elsewhere. A collection, Some Disassembly Required, winner of the 2023 Elgin Award, is available from him at jopnquog@gmail.com.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
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Issue 25 Mar 2024
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
Issue 18 Mar 2024
Strange Horizons
Issue 11 Mar 2024
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Issue 26 Feb 2024
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
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