Day: June 8, 2026

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

Caitlin lifted her hand and stroked the back of Michael’s head. “Please don’t cry, my love,” she said. “Please don’t cry.”
Michael raised his head. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I’m truly, deeply sorry.”
Caitlin smiled. “You big baby. I’ve never seen you in such a state.”
She kissed his cheek and snuggled into his arms.
Michael kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheek. Then he tenderly kissed her swollen mouth. “Are you cold?” he asked. He saw the long rip in the front of her dress and felt guilty.
“Yes,” Caitlin replied. “I’m so cold my blood has frozen.”
Michel gallantly took off his woollen jersey and gave it to Caitlin. “Pull that on,” he said.
She did. “Oh, that feels so much better. Thank you, Michael. Here, let me drape this shawl over your shoulders. It’ll help keep you warm. Or a bit warmer.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Run away up here.”
“I don’t know. It seemed appropriate. I needed to think.”
“Did you see him?”
Caitlin looked at Michael with a puzzled expression. “Did I see who?”
“Jesus. On the cross. Out there over the sea.”
Caitlin lowered her head again and pressed herself more tightly against Michael’s body. She paused thoughtfully. Her face was perturbed. “No,” she said at last. “Not Jesus on the cross.”
“Did you see anything?”
Caitlin’s fingers twisted Michael’s woollen jersey. “Oh Michael. I fell asleep for a while. I was exhausted. I had the most awful dream.”
Michael held her with both arms. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I don’t know if I could describe it as it was.”
Caitlin was quiet a while. Then in an agitated voice she said, “I saw the sea, Michael: a stormy sea, with big waves breaking and the spray flying, the way I love to watch it in its winter rage. And then it was calm, as calm as a mill-pond, and dark, almost black, and thick like tar, as it is in that picture in the church. And the sky was dark. And everything, everywhere, was as still as midnight. It’s the way the world will look when it’s ended and we’ve all gone.
“Then I saw something on the water, floating towards me, even though there was no movement of waves, no wind to drive it.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Poodie James

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excerpt

“From the standpoint of the police department,” Mr. Stout,
“things are well in hand.”
Spear waited for the crowd to settle down. “Now we come to the
matter of the train derailment and fire a while back.” For the first
time, Engine Fred thought, Spear seemed unsure of himself. “It
has been suggested that hobos from the jungle interfered with the
train and had help from someone in the neighborhood.”
Whispers coursed through the room. Albert Swan cleared his
throat. Clever of Torgerson, Spanger thought, to plant that notion
with Spear and let his political enemy make it public. “I’ve heard
the theory,” he said.
“I know you investigated personally, Chief. What did you find
out?”
“The railroad’s investigator told me the accident was the fault of
poor track maintenance. He said there was no evidence of sabotage.
We’re waiting for his formal report, but that was his finding.”
“And what do you think, Chief Spanger?” The question came
from Stout.
“I think that the head accident investigator for the Great Northern
knows his job. There is no reason to doubt him. Besides, why
would a hobo who depends on trains for his transportation want to
wreck one? Doesn’t make sense.”
“It might,” Stout said, leaning forward, “if the hobo and his
accomplice wrecked the train so they could come to the rescue and
be heroes.” He shifted his heft to the back of the chair. A buzz ran
through the audience.
So that was it, Sam Winter thought, the crackpot scheme to
draw Poodie James into the mayor’s campaign against hobos was in
the open without Torgerson’s having to spring it himself. He
looked over at Clarkson. Engine Fred sat staring at the front of the
room.
Spanger’s voice took on an edge. “That is a serious charge of
criminal activity, Mr. Stout. There is no evidence to support it,
none whatever.” Stout shrugged and gave Spanger a faint smile.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Orange

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Theatre
In the darkness of the theatre
absence reigns over
the indiscernible performance
of an ambivalent dust particle
actors fill the air with
grunts as though talking
of love in the theatre
full of corpses while
music debates life
at the moment of the lead
actor’s death
while you laugh at his funny hat
and his shirt, with the fiery red
stamp over his heart

https://draft2digital.com/book/3746001#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763750

Twelve Narratives of the Gypsy

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“My father awaits for us, oh
my beloved and the people
weave wreaths and crowns.”
“My horse is neighing, oh
my love, ready to take us
away to our destiny”
“The throne is meant for us, oh
my beloved, the horns of war
and the lyres of peace are heard!”
“Voyages await for us, oh
my love, to unknown lands
to our first Fate together!”
“Let us stay here and have
children, oh my beloved, a new
world to our likeness!”
“Let us go, my love, to give
birth to the generation of tearless
which will change the world
in order to reach to this land
I turn my heart into stone and
I made a cemetery of my soul
I turn my mind into an arrow
and my wish into a ghost
I used all these starting with
my parents who I killed.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D3LP7NW6