Dashboard Horus: A Bird's Eye View of the Universe

  Disappearance Of An Impractical Nature The Dingle was the kind of place you would stop to take a leak, or disrespectfully throw a used mattress into its narrow, uneven ravine. The dog walkers gave it a wide birth. A green chain linked fence and whatever the season, wet dirt road was its more interesting southern border. Most chose the disappointing interstate. People tend to look twice at a meandering, naked old lady. Confirmation peaked with the number of calls. She was heading south intent on some purpose, feet black or bloody, muddied, yet still a dusty rose. Randle's farm was displaced somewhere near here. Apple orchards, trees with gnarley branches never boringly straight but contorted, personalized by their lack of constraint. Two Police cars, three youngish officers serious in the heat searched for an hour in this equals place. No wanderer found no mother, daughter, sister, no one even to compensate. © Colin James

Colin James has a couple of chapbooks of poetry published: Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writing Knights Press, and A Thoroughness Not Deprived of Absurdity from Piski's Porch Press, and a book of poems, Resisting Probability , from Sagging Meniscus Press. He lives in Massachusetts. Green Eyes Minerals, you have to get them on your side, otherwise disenchanting brown stains occur. The attendant is subtly attentive behind his glass partition. He reads a travel brochure, yet another refurbishment of Brighton Pier. Probably longs for the American northwest. White overalls and other tree houses anchored amid the higher reaches. There is that pause before the waterfalls when the lake of inversion increases. Temporal the word I should have used. © Colin James  

                                                                                                                       Edvard Munch Bio: Colin James has a couple of chapbooks of poetry, Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writing Knights Press, and A Thoroughness Not Deprived Of Absurdity from Pski's Porch Press. He lives in Massachusetts. Heaven, I'm In Heaven Edvard Munch will greet me. He's wearing a three piece tweed suit procured during his frequent trips to Savile Row. Impressive sideburns. We are standing in an empty room with an oak floor and a cheesy cloud and sky wallpaper. Our conversation is monosyllabic regarding the tardy Ibsen. At this very moment there is no need for a ferris...