There is

by Darryl Price

another way to play with all that is

that doesn't involve killing for profit. I believe that, don't you? There is


always a much kinder response to the failing  

dawn of secret night. Dancers know the power of this beautiful all encompassing


raiment. There is a good enough chance every

day simply because of the amazing swirling of atoms everywhere. There's this written


monument between us now. I bring that up

simply because it's another fit of kisses coming your way. Don't wait. There's


a river that is mightier than all the

tortured hate crying on the pitiful worlds. It runs in all four directions


at once and delivers its source in every

lasting drop, rain or shine. There's a turning inside that winds you up.


It'll come. You'll know that tide by the

free notion of its being home no matter where you are, the genuine calming,


knowing fortune it ghostly brings through any wall's fat head. It's

happening. Fast rising off any ground with arms open wide. There is a


breeze. It is spoken. I am but one

of the many ways. There is a personal key dreamed about or imagined in you. 

Bonus poems:

(The Sad) Gentlemen Write

not even a

little disguised poetry by default, peer through

the holy hands

of the mugging


silent and sweet

they do wish to appear on the subject, don't scream

or shift their heads

at the remains

of animals,

or odd plants, have

already rung the bells for iridescent night, that's

the saddest part, have

too great a thirst

for hollowing

out the places

that might have seen happiness, stepping off the world, stop

heavy as plums

to rocks below.

Floating Postcard

by Darryl Price

We came windmilling together up and over the blue and yellow stone bluffs like a couple of empty yet racing nowhere fast plastic grocery bags catching onto everything and anything in our way and desperately trying to get free again in any tiny bit of wind that blew by going our general direction. We kept our heads down

nonetheless. The only thing I wanted to be seeing was the blue sheets of ocean below and the white caps of the sailboats, I mean besides the insides of her bikini again. She caught me looking and in spite of the danger we were in she let out a little snide laugh that skidded across the rocky plains between us and hit me straight between the

eyes.I loved how clean and crooked her teeth looked just then. Then it was all back to business as usual. We needed to get down there, way down there, and fast without being seen by anyone with a gun or a knife. The damned curious circling seagulls were already hang gliding our way like fully gassed up zeroes ready to suicide themselves for any

small crust of bread. They'd probably figured we'd be good for something tasty, left behind. I started to throw a rock at them but her hand held my arm in a vice-like grip. She didn't speak but shook her head back and forth. I was instantly in an intense slow-mo trance of my own making when a little rivulet of the clearest water I've ever

seen zigzagged down her chest and magnified her skin cells and I dropped the rock all at once to the dirt below. We waited in utter silence until the birds' short attention span was suddenly drawn away by a bunch of screaming and laughing voices running by in the opposite direction smelling of picnic food and suntan oil and soiled diapers. We

saw our chance then and we took to it like any properly made bamboo and paper kites to a picture perfect clear blue sky. Looking more like big spiders now I must admit than friendly bathers we scrambled over and down the cliff's jutting chin and dropped to the sand below with two crispy sounding sandy crunches. She was up on her

muscular haunches immediately while I staggered and held my legs and pumped my burning feet up and down in some kind of stupid dance that meant okay yes I'm alive but that really hurt and this sand is like a bucket of hot coals if you really must know all the forgone and concluded reasons. She pointed to the tiniest boat.Our boat.Our way out

there in the distance kind of boat. I was very much thinking about not liking sharks very much right then when she grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the water like a short piece of rope. That's when I heard the first shots ring out and saw the water pop up around us like something starting to bubble and cook on a stove and saw them

coming on furious riding machines straight towards us. It's funny how everything will turn into raw emotion when everything's about to end. There was a lot of clouds and then the sound of the whole world being submerged and then more gulls, more motors and shouting and hands pressing me onto something wet but floating. Her face said it all before I passed out.