Maybugs

Perry Janes It’s as if everything is built to pull us forward towards an age we won’t remember the seasons. The geometry of late spring drones in my ears: honeycomb octagons, grass lines all pointed upwards. The water wheel I built cycles, unmoving, while I shoot blindly into the field with my cornstalk popgun to… More

Friction

Perry Janes Nikola Tesla. Smiljan, Serbia. 1875 Blue light chases the heads of wheat crops, leaps the divide from field to my hands on the windowsill. Mother outside, bathed in its watery glow, works to clear a path to the ocean, sends tall crops fleeing from her grasp. My father elsewhere blesses the sick and… More