Collected written works | Gary Marx
“It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.”
— MARK TWAIN
Short Story
“One of These Knights”
Beagle draped an arm over the back of his chair and furrowed his brows. He crossed his legs and stoked his stubbly chin. It was a studied look. He had a full repertoire of thoughtful gestures, and he went through them all whenever his cousin Tar Man came over.
“Look at it this way, man,” he said. “We know it’s all gonna end some day. An asteroid’s gonna hit, the sun’ll burn out, whatever ...”
“We’re doomed! Therefore, if you think about it, nothing, per se, really matters.” He liked the sound of “per se.” It added a certain whatever to whatever he was saying. “Follow?”
“ ’xactly,” Tar Man said, but he was only half listening. He was trying to coax his disposable lighter to work one more time.
Tar Man flipped the spent lighter onto the table and picked up the box of Ohio Blue Tips. He struck a match and relit the bowl, the sweet smell of greenhouse reefer wafting into the air. He dropped the cooled match into the clay pot that held a dead tomato plant, and he passed the pipe to Beagle.
Verse
DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to be a poet. Whenever I dabble in the form, I feel like a trespasser, stepping over low fences to play in forbidden fields. These “poems” are the footprints of an interloper.
❏ “Before the Flood”
❏ “The Plagiarist”
❏ “Umbrella Bones”
❏ “Sandstone
Shelters”
❏ “Dim Disturbance”
❏ “Morning Song”
❏ “Sounds of the
Hunt”
❏ “A Crucifixion of
Islands”
