Then the dragonfly flew, squaring the corner, came up the ramp toward the door of the portable classroom — a low, hovering student enrolled.
She pivoted suddenly, shunning my handshake and greeting; sharp corner before flying back over the sidewalk. She measured the smooth cement squares length by width, squaring her corners to match the edges and cracks between the regular, regimental slabs.
Settling in the sun, stunning emerald and gold, pondering our angles —
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before….” — Edgar Allan Poe
Nietzsche didn’t get
virtual reality, the benefit
of mirrored aviators when fighting
the demons of oneself.
monsterly while combating evil shows
a decided lack of lyrical aesthetic. Dance
in toe shoes around the edge of the whole.
hours opposing monsters that lurk
within me. The worst that happens
is that I build up a terrible appetite.
Appease the beast or at least get
out of his way in the kitchen.
Charles Lyman studied Fiction and Poetry (and a lot of other cool stuff) at the University of Minnesota. He teaches English in Orlando, Florida where he resides with his favorite poet and their disdainful dog.To read more of his poetic and creative writings visit –
The soul is sucked dry!” she cried. “But who needs a soul in the city?”
She looks out from “a place… dry and dusty*.” Ironically, the 15th floor.
She has been away from her home so long that the city is integrated with her being, her thoughts. City- molded, but not city-fed. It feeds upon those who stay this long — eyes stop investigating, brains stop reflecting, chips swallow braincells — a uniform diversity has absorbed her originality.
The last time she left, went home, she had forgotten the language.
Warmth, welcome and humanity had driven her back to the hub, the tower. Steel, concrete, glass. Traffic, litter, loneliness… safety.
What once was discordance, grate, jar, screech, is lullaby — the hum of humanity’s machine.