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Fiction by
Martin Nakell
'Pex 1' by Ben Tyree

'Lines of the City'  2008 DK McDonald
'Lines of the City' by DK McDonald
stories from the city beneath the city

1. a continuation

A breeze. A tropical bird flown far from home. A desperate economy. Truck gears at a precise pitch. Wherever you’re going, you’ve been there again. Why do you write about the indescribable beauty of the thin lines woven across the skin of the pottery of your city. Why do you imagine the Mind of the mind that envisioned them the hand that inscribed them unless it was you or your double at some time in history. The house where the murder took place is closed up now and the family dispersed. Who founded your city became a myth in the shape of an animal whose shape remains changeless throughout time. In the piazza outside the 4th Temple a band of musicians plays throughout the afternoon. Having made your small daily sacrifice to the most simple god, the god of the moment by continuous moment where the water meets the land, you settle down to observe the whiteness of things or the sound of a spade made by your friend cultivating the soil across the road. Last night with the window open so you could see the moon to make sure that it still existed you read in the book how good, how pleasant it is to sit together. The fragrance of lemon mixes with the smell of tomato from the arbor inside the garden. One bird has abandoned the tropics for another paradise. A wandering singer knows only the one song about death but it’s possible that everyone has already made a pact with the eternal. You drink only water now because wine tastes bitter in solitude. Someday, you swear you will begin, or you will begin again. You would tell yourself a story to pass the time while waiting for the others to arrive in time for it but you are a little tired now, and stories take energy, so instead you give in to a momentary living in pure hope, for people who have exhausted the colors of their artforms for a time then wait for the seasons to pass to restore the necessary pigments to the harvesting grounds. The town crier’s song awakens you though at first you can’t tell if it’s just the calling of the hours that he chants or the latest dramatic news that might require your attention.

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last update: February 29, 2008