Size / / /

All the clocks stop at midnight.

A butterfly flaps its wings,

and they shred under the brunt force

of shifting poles. White-jacketed scientists

in white rooms stand passive as two colliding atoms

give birth to a black hole—ravenous child

that drinks and drinks, and is never sated.

An improbable combination of zeroes and ones

creates silicon sentience; every computer

experiences epiphany; every machine begins

to erase the futile gestures of humanity.

Saucers hang like lazy silver cigars, each full

of little grey aliens with little grey zap guns.

The dead get up, take a stroll, and famished from their repose,

crack open skulls like walnuts. The four horsemen

(those real live cowboys) ride in, whooping, hollering,

and make a great ruckus on their express train steeds.

A meteor swings in, joins the hullabaloo; the sun swells

and bursts with pride; and mushroom clouds bloom like poppies.

Meanwhile, Christ and Muhammad slice open wormholes,

and usher refugees to salvation. Buddha sits serene

on a Himalayan mountaintop, grooving to the poetry

of unraveling reality, palms open as if to offer

a last chance at transcendence. Beneath the curve

of a porcelain blue tsunami, Cthulhu stretches

his long, long limbs and crawls out of bed. And in Tokyo,

Godzilla offers his home town a final flaming kiss goodnight.




Andrea Blythe lives in Los Gatos, California, where she writes poetry and fiction. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, including Chiaroscuro (ChiZine), Perigee, Bear Creek Haiku, and Chinquapin. If you would like to learn more, you can visit her webpage: www.andreablythe.com. You can also see her previous work in our archives.
Current Issue
10 Feb 2025

The editors for the AfroSurrealism Special invite you to submit fiction, poetry, and nonfiction.
he curls his bicep into ever more and more and more bicep
Hush. He sees through / the static. Softly. It sees him back.
“Please also be reminded of the following prohibited items,” the clerk explains kindly. “No chemicals or toxic substances. No fluids over 1,000 milliliters. No lithium batteries, laptop chargers and power banks, no love, no light, no family, no safety.”
Wednesday: Dream Machine: A Portrait of Artificial Intelligence by Appupen and Laurent Daudet 
Friday: Wolfish by Kritika Kapoor 
Issue 27 Jan 2025
By: River
Issue 20 Jan 2025
Strange Horizons
By: Michelle Kulwicki
Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
Issue 13 Jan 2025
Issue 6 Jan 2025
By: Samantha Murray
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 23 Dec 2024
Issue 16 Dec 2024
Issue 9 Dec 2024
Issue 2 Dec 2024
By: E.M. Linden
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 25 Nov 2024
Issue 18 Nov 2024
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
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