474 4 3
|
Daylight and cold sensed as an abstract, a number in my mind. Air thin, polluted, lacking oxygen. But the Recyclers are at it again.
|
22433
|
Pieces that said shrug a shrug and then another and one to right with the eyes that squint and one to left with rhythm that never left. And piece after piece, after piece they stich themselves, née weave a tapestry that is the dance your very walk swayed
|
9032
|
Drink three Bloody Marys and grate a small indiscretion on the steps of the party house over the pan whilst turning the heat up to medium.
|
13755
|
The dry leaves, brittle in the breeze, scuttle across the yard like forgotten stories, curling and spinning in the wind, their crisp edges brushing against the earth as if they’re trying to remember something they once knew.
|
15065
|
The east wind probes through the eaves, pushing at the walls, as though it wants to drag us out into the cold, to swallow us whole.
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