Zeugens Are Jagged-Shaped Columns of Rock

James Grinwis

She walks up the stairs and the top of her head disappears. The sand stretched from the base of the stairs to the edges of a red distance. The staircase, suspended by wires, bounced once or twice like a baby being burped. Her legs are bare and etched with Chinese prints, whose characters plant ferns, fish, and wink. Streaming out of her invisible head, her voice is a baleen whale bouncing against an electric cable. “Egon” she calls, “you should wear the Smilodon hide to the party, not the white bear!” Night was coming, a surge of purple stabbing its fork into the luxuriant red. Candles erupted across the plain like imbeciles who’d forgotten the desires they’d stuffed in their hearts.

 

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