Karen Holman Lightning Strike after Jim Galvin A bubble in a level the brain floats. Wrinkled gray sea. Walnut. Watertower balancing on its stem. Harvesting sun through the eyes, the brain shines in the dark. Its nerves stretch toward nerves, but can't touch, instead telegraph urgent dots and dashes across a sparkling sea of chemicals. If the mind tears, fast as an evergreen split by lightning, the four good horses there electrocuted. Don't even have to shoot them. |