To the Artist's Page To our home page
To John R. Harford's previous piece
The Prophet It is like the banks of the Lethe: black, winding, steaming asphalt. A ferryman on stained wood wings gently circles on the steaming meat zephyr high above. My gaze meets his and he knows one foot out onto the road, my gaze follows that carrion dance graceful and slow. Tractor-trailer accident, above, waltzing, dreaming of. In those crystal ball eyes he daydreams me killed. His gaze meets mine and he knew from the pooling red, he pulls my spine.