I tasted the juices, millions of years old. My feet were covered in earth. I hugged the ground, and the ground, like an impoverished boy curled next to a space heater in an attic-turned-bedroom with makeshift walls, hugged back. Naked girls pirouetting danced through my mind, the background a cave dimly lit by fire. What would I think if I left that cave? What would I do if the fire went dim? One slight change of path, and what would the ancient juices taste like? What would my feet be covered with? I am turning into a rocket. I hope death is like a space launch.
Bio: John Arthur lives in New Jersey. He likes to read, write, listen to music, and play music. He sings in a band called The Deafening Colors: http://www.myspace.com/thedeafeningcolors.