Friday 8/13/2010 12:45:00 AM

a set of stairs. leaning to touch the gate. long eyes just shy of the oncoming train. bits of rain well above. the things we know are there that never reach us. an empty wall. coaxed by the necromancy of windows without their glass.

a scientist. his experiment duly contained. The results are in the chaos.

She works the footprints as the snow quickly gives way. It's too warm now. For those places to remember us. Where I was. Where I am. An ancillary topic. In this circus of how.

She rubs her forehead. Pushing the sweat away in bursts. She closes her eyes. Managing the memories in fragile sculptures. And heavy bricks. Little walls quickly grow big. Open doorways lock shut.

Calm castles on their moats. Feed the crocodiles that protect them. Heavy drawbridges attempt to thwart the hunger. As the water presses closer.

Her little stacks. Dust and dead things in neat piles. Counting the inches to the ceiling. As the stairs collapse under her feet.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.