Novel Characters Near a Saloon A black tail swishes, numbering the men who focus on the buddha horse outside. These men--known as agnostics, lower case-- have wandered off vast prairie, mythocide in every holster, threatening the face of pseudoscientific acumen or what-you-will, an elephant none saw so much as felt. A pair of bat-wing doors disperse smoke in long summer business hours, but our posse looks away, toward law more pertinent to ultra-paladin than scum, to find there--maybe--argument for rationality, the valiant, a time machine, or just a bit of zen.
Written Too Late for a Memorial Service On whose authority did he survive threescore and ten despite the fibrous lung? I can’t say at this stage. Imagine love from evanescent evidence--a song like “Fiddler’s Green,” some folklore, an embrace. The problem solved is all we get to keep as talisman, a plus sign or Swiss cross equating to our family’s end-hope for unity (absent the company of angels if they lack a real-life pulse). That symbol of addition is one way to hold the positive above what’s false. It proves a man was true enough to seek his truth in four directions. He found peace at cleek and niblick, words of breath or book, sweet mathematics’ teaching, and with us.
Mark Blaeuer has an M.A. in anthropology and is retired from the National Park Service. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Able Muse, Better Than Starbucks, The Dark Horse, Measure, Nimrod, Westview, and The Windsor Review. Kelsay Books released a collection, Fragments of a Nocturne, in 2014. His prose publications concern baseball history and Native American history around Hot Springs, Arkansas.