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by on May 5, 2016 in Poetry | 1 comment

We robots mingle amiably, raising our oxidized alloy flags, toting portable solar chargers, creaking and rumbling. WELCOME says the cracked LED panel above the trampled grassland. Not one glare. No bad words. If you had been there, shocked to be the only wetware, aching for another...

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A Woman of a Certain Age

by on Dec 6, 2011 in Poetry | 3 comments

By FJ Bergmann I do prefer an orphan, whose demise is rarely noted. Far from nymphomania, I’ve had no more than twelve since coming here; less than a hundred moons have passed since then. Widowed (by reputation), I am demure. The invitation drenched in heliotrope that summons them...

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House of Shadows

by on Feb 15, 2011 in Poetry | 0 comments

By F.J. Bergmann I look out onto a landscape that could have been formed by a glittering gas, heavier than air, hissing out of the showerhead to settle in translucent billows that occlude the view of the privacy fence, under the benediction of the mysterious animal ornamenting the roof,...

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by on Mar 7, 2010 in Poetry | 0 comments

By F.J. Bergmann Their hives were castles of yellow sulfur; their language, a barrage of white noise. Even their house pets had wheeled feet or huge faceted eyes the color of moons rising on our homeworld. Their excreta glowed in the dark, illuminating convoys of nocturnal harvest...

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