About the Author
Peter Jaeger is a Canadian poet resident in the UK. He teaches poetry and literary theory at Roehampton University, in London.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I saw a white tower with many windows a long way off, across a flat plain. Bits of irradiated soot floated around the charred city, but I alone had survived the nuclear bombing. People keep watching what I do. I flew into the sky while dancing. Everyone was a unique organ functioning within the larger body that composed us. Branches grew into my eyes, ears, and ass. Stairs lead off in every direction through the black sky. I can heal anyone. Groups of tiny people danced very slowly. Seven jets flew overhead in formation, and then I found myself in the cockpit. My foot sank knee-deep into the earth. Denim snowflakes formed and reformed crystalline patterns on my jeans. I danced like a tropical creeper from the jungle. The dog seemed severe but calm. I soared on a steady wind stream flowing around a forest of very tall trees and the trees had the sweetest luscious fruit, coloured in medium gold, large red, small green. I'm proud of my nakedness. And I'm always running toward my boyfriend. There was a huge spider web being spun by a giant spider. A guide led me through a long corridor on an alien planet. At the party, I wore this stylish outfit that made me feel emotionally and physically uncomfortable. As I gazed out calmly across the blue water, I could see the setting sun sink like a blazing ball of red fire, creating a golden path across the waters, leading to my feet. I chased her up and down some steel spiral steps. I suddenly felt myself falling into space....