A Graveyard for Lunatics

Cover of book A Graveyard for Lunatics
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Categories: Fiction
Like the Great Wall of China, it moved over the shore and the land and the mountains at 6 A.M.
    My morning voices spoke.
    I crept around Constance’s parlor, groping to find my glasses somewhere
... under an elephant herd of pillows, but gave up and staggered about to find a portable typewriter. I sat blindly stabbing out the words to put an end to Antipas and the Messiah.
    And it was indeed A Miracle of Fish.
    And Simon called Peter pulled in to the shore to find the Ghost by the charcoal bed and the baked fish to be given as gifts, with the word as deliverance to a final good, and the disciples there in a gentle mob and the last hour upon them and the Ascension near and the farewells that would linger beyond two thousand years to be remembered on Mars and shipped on to Alpha Centauri.
    And when the Words came from my machine I could not see them, and held them close to my blind wet eyes as Constance dolphined out of a wave, another miracle clothed in rare flesh, to read over my shoulder and give a sad-happy cry and shake me like a pup, glad of my triumph.
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A Graveyard for Lunatics
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