Bernard Cohen



Untitled (Chinese SF periphrastic)

Impossible approaches, light sped, I can’t read any more, carboniferous I would burn by paragraph’s end; a signal, aliens on page forty-two, plotted (curved, dashed) untraceable, how I love home on page fifty-nine; subtler aliens would cast a new Earth …

Posted in 115: SPACE | Tagged

Traffic Calming

He pulls out to the wrong side that morning, doubleparked trucks tense him up so dangerous, meat-hooked carcasses, latched-open doors, chilled pink in him more than risk gritted in his teeth as he overtakes, still he drives heavily, wrestles left, …

Posted in 84: SUBURBIA | Tagged

America

In Minneapolis the water tastes of chlorine, bleached out memories of old conflicts dissolving into themselves like ice-cubes. In Denver, the water carries occasional whiffs of ammonia, but who cares? Not me, I’m wearing a new suit like a nationality. …

Posted in 03: NEXT WAVE | Tagged