Steve Langan


Multiple twigs circled into and beyond the faintly
scrubbed panes of glass.

The red barn wept.

...concierge, goodnight, torn lampshade...

So much silence it was a carnival of silence.

Both charioteer and rider said excellent feast

Saying her name remembering it from a lifelong past.

Which frequency are we running on tonight, over?

Workers unite! Demand your rights!
was heard in the hills into the morning.

Finally it was clear to them:
disinformation, errata and hoax...

At the point the symptoms can only get worse;
at this juncture the threat of death is real.

...beautiful puzzle, macabre disaster,
recompense, dissolution...

Let's forgive him for stealing the pickup;
our concern should be with the babysitter.

It had been concluded that she was hazardous
and a victim.

...given to showy displays, unembraceable,
narcoleptic, of a piece with a fallen angel...

Mind always said, be a sport, entertain me.

I had thought, finally, a viable diagnosis,
but you had to go and fuck it up for me.

Good old-fashioned melancholia!
What would I do without her?

You are immature and lazy, and you need
to grow up and get a job, his mother said.

What offended him most was waiting for the sign.

Next to the telephone, an eerie dash of rainbow.

Putting on his jacket, he knocked over the Wurlitzer.

You just won't believe the results, I swear.

Aha, he said. Aha, she said.





"Alternate Endings to a Red and Gray Book" could've gone on forever.