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BRIAN FOLEY lives in a New England village made entirely of concrete and surrounded by children. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Eyeshot, Word Riot, Ectoplasm Necropolis, Quick Fiction, Pindeldyboz, Pequin, Juked, Lamination Colony, and others. His chapbook, The Tornado Is Not A Surrealist, is now available from Greying Ghost Press.
eunuchsblues.blogspot.com
brianjamesfoley AT gmail DOT com
© 2008 Brian Foley
A SUDDEN ISLAND APPEARS. Just as quickly, it disappears. When it appears it is often on fire. Sometimes it is on fire in a parking lot. Other times
in the library. Once it was reported to have appeared in the cradle of a sleeping child. I saw it once from the highway at a distance, a burning tropical sunset spread wide across the horizon.
It was out of control. There seems to be no one steering the thing. No rhyme or reason to its occurrence. It could be anywhere, at this moment.
This upsets the dogs. They bark in multi-directions, as if an intruder is approaching. They can sense it out there. You try to calm them with a voice used only for small children and animals.
They join you on the couch and hide their heads in your lap, but cannot settle. Not while it's still out there, unexplored and unable to stay put.
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