JiMeiLofgren

I wore a hot pink dress as if I could stand out and fight from being consumed by white walls, flowers unnamed faces bodies in a crowd swarming, writhing, twisting, dancing lights flash pink, blue, green, rays swerving “the hip way” ones that blinds your eyes my pink fades, seeping with shadow, a purple bruise the fabric crinkles, wilts. Wallflowers are at least noted to be a flower admirable from afar with petals delicate, likely to waver in the wind, drift at the first sign of affection blowing their way. But instead I am a stain a small speck on the wall crushed by the wallflowers around me, their beauty shines, blind

Carter rolled out of bed, muttering “stop” so his digital assistant could turn off his alarm. Then he sat on the edge of his bed for a few minutes, his eyelids drooping, his head bobbing as if he were listening to music rather than fighting to stay awake. “Good morning, Carter. Today’s forecast is partly sunny, currently at 53 degrees Fahrenheit. Traffic is low in the area and you have one message,” came his assistant’s robot voice. Carter always thought the voice sounded almost human, so he gave it the alliterative name Robbie. Perhaps that was because he was lonely too. Carter slapped himself on his c

Cement giants with arms linked, and strips of black line their wing spans. Trees crowd below, a building here, A building there, Cars scurrying, people marching Trees crowd closer, blanketing rolling hills but Never reaching those giants. Most mornings the world blurs, Grays, chalky whites, diluted blues, But the cement rises like exposed whale bones curving above, Cutting up the mountains, the sky, the sun Hidden, a faint circle that bare eyes can see But find no beauty. Those bones, smooth, bright, usher tides of Diesel, stone, metal, and peoplepeoplepeoplepeoplepeople IT IS FOR THE PEOPLE INNOVATION WILL BRING PROSPERITY FOR SECURING T

 The tradition began with rich folks. At first, they wanted to travel in shuttles, but when the program was shut down, they wanted to look for other ways to leave a permanent mark in the universe. Then they remembered it. The Voyager’s Golden Record. It became a new sensation, to send messages into the stars, to project their voices out into space and emptiness. And then the normal folks caught on too. Beth wasn’t either of those. She wasn’t rich nor was she normal. She was a gravedigger for those in the stars. Every day she went to work, just the cog that listened to the messages attached to the urns that would be launche

Or nightmares. He was lying flat on his stomach, the cold from the tile floor seeping through his clothes. For some reason he couldn't breath. Or maybe wasn't breathing any longer. The white fluorescent lights were flickering above and it felt as if he was in a hospital room. Like the examination room? Suddenly he was sitting on the examination table again. Dr. Rauschmann was drawing his blood, that wide smile permanently on his face. But now something was wrong. The smile was growing, growing bigger until it consumed half of the man's face. His eyes disappeared, replaced by reflective glasses. The smile now transformed into a medical mask

The glass was sharp. Andrew didn’t realize he cut his finger until he felt a pulse at the tip, a throb, and he looked down. A slow, viscous bead of deep red swelled from the line splitting his skin. He looked at the rest of the pieces scattered, small bits glittering below the bedroom light. Some shards were left in the picture frame on the ground. Whether it leaped from his hands or something possessed his fingers to smash it down, he couldn’t tell. He rose from his crouch, his knees creaking despite the fact he hadn’t even reached middle age. Letting his feet guide him, he slowly backed away from the shattered glass and

As a child, the bottom bunk bed was like a cave of peace and comfort for her, one where she could hide from all the monsters she imagined crawling out of the closet or ghostly images appearing at the door. Often, she would lay there, creating stories as her eyes searched for images in the board of wood above her. There, those series of spots, they looked like a footprint a dinosaur left. She was going to discover a dinosaur of her own someday. And there, that one is of a large baby chick and it wouldn’t grow into a chicken, but something like a phoenix. She heard it was called a phoenix when a bird was on fire in the cartoon she watched

Plucking up dandelions was a past time of mine as a child. Not the ones with seeds that you blow with childish wishes, when the little puffs of white sometimes catches on your eyelashes. Those were picked, but they didn't fascinate me as much as the ones that were drops of yellow sunshine  among a sea of green. Despite being labeled a weed, a nuisance, a disgrace to the immaculate, manicured lawns that display how amazing you fit into a suburbia, those little flowers of golden yellow could make me smile. I would often pluck one, sometimes accidentally squishing the stem between my pudgy fingers with the innocent carelessness a child has. Thos

Oh, my great love! With hair so gorgeous, a laugh like a chorus of angels, thine eyes are like roses. I mean, your lips are like roses. Not yellow roses, or those weird ones dyed blue or black. But, like the, um, red ones? But that is when you wear lipstick, make-up donned like a mask of perfection, hiding shadows under eyes, disguising long nights spent talking about dreams and hopes with me, nights filled with little secrets that day shouldn’t hear and warm embraces to cover tears. Ahem. That’s not how it’s suppose to work. Oh, my goddess, greater than Aphrodite! Like Helen of Troy, I’d battle for you, your

Snow, winter’s petals, floats softly towards the ground, drifting on the wind.