On top of a landfill, lush greenery explodes in an almost vulgar display of joyous life--audacious, really. Muscular fish leap from a pool of oil--they almost seem antagonistic in their athleticism. Wolves stalk the landscape, transform into domestic pets, beloved friends, and sink back again into their natural, wild states.

Neil Young Is Copping a Feel

by Candy Sue Ellison

Blank slate. Then a spark in the dark. Jackie and Layne sat in the black room trying their best to light up a bong at 3 am. They had already flown their three sheets voluptuously in the wind like a triple surrender, and were hoping to put a cap on the wide open night by getting high.

The smoke rose like a bird into each girl's lungs, bloomed in a bundle of feathers then ripped at the insides of their throats with talons made of silver, before flying up into their heads and swirling like rag-tag clothes thrown haphazardly into the machine of a chicken laundress. Clucking and flapping and far from landing, this night was about to sprout wings.

Jackie turned on the radio with an arm that felt as though it were already taking flight without her.

"Bird, O bird," Layne called to her. "How will you escape copulating with the king's son? How will you escape marriage?"

"Fly away, of course," Jackie replied with a wry smile as she turned the radio up. "Didn't you hear? I was captured during my flight in the night. I was put in a bag the color of the velvet sky and now Neil Young is copping a feel. He's put me in a golden cage and is singing to me day and night. But at least I am free of the prince's crude hands. The king's son will never find me here."

"I'll protect you," Lynn's eyes said. "I'll stand outside the door while he croons and crows. Like all the others, he's a cock who scrabbles before a mirror. And whether it's golden or not, he's put you in a cage. I'll kill him. Tomorrow he will call his last, and I will come."

As her eyes spoke for her, Layne's hands prepared for the train robbery she was about to commit on Jackie's heart. So she started with her breasts. Jackie's breath arrested: this was indeed a holdup on a fast-moving train of thought. The beating of her heart attested to that, as the Young man crowed a story about slaughtered teens in Ohio, then after a pause revered the moon. Faithfully, Layne's fingertips revered the trail of down across the wheat fields of Jackie's thighs.

The sun would come up soon. And the smoke would flap its way out of their heads, flee the spell it now put on their lips and tongues and hands and leave in its wake only this silent, fleshy confession and the open door of a gilt cage.