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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 1, March 2015


Thomas Chockley
Plainfield, Illinois, USA

The Inexplicable Thick of It

In it I find myself sinking through the air to land lightly in a tree-ringed meadow. I look around. Sunny day. Blue sky. A shrouded figure tied to a square post in the meadow. I approach slowly. A figure is enshrouded in layers of a frosty, white cocoon. Up close I can feel the chill. A quick look over my shoulder. Nothing moving anywhere. I take out my knife. I carefully cut away the cowl around the face. It's me. Why me? Why so chill, so blue, so still? I am sure that the blue me is not dead here. It's in a state of suspended animation I think. I carefully cut down the blue me, strip away the shroud, and lay the body out on the ground. Blue me remains inert, unresponsive, paralyzed. I contemplate blue me, contemplate me. I am frozen at a red light while she-who-must-be-obeyed makes up her mind about us. I edge forward slowly.

strange attractor
every car ahead of me slows
at each green light



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