Tuesday, November 4, 2008

One Fumbles

A field of frost, boot prints across it reflecting no goal. The tiniest blueberries were high on the bushes. Father's black and white pistol still haunts me worse than any ghost ever could.

Half a dress only, the rest a pale blur. Who knows the twists and turns of every dark road? The plastic wrapper unfolding disturbed everyone in the otherwise silent theater.

In new snow, a dream of new beginnings. One fumbles one. A pad of legal paper, smiley faces.

John Havlicek was one ideal. The snake was thick, the color and texture of a burning tire. A moon in which the inclination to mockery faded.

With apologies to those absent from this text, I hereby continue my neglect. One combs their hair before visiting the doctor, even with a head wound. Kiss albums were ferried through town on a star-spangled Huffy.

Holes where the toilets had once been. Those bruises can be explained and I will. Cement head melon burst.

Across the meadow voices rose in accord with an injured heart. Go baby driver.

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