Her searching eyes stuck in a patch of gleam, the forward rippling ocean. Mounting the sand dunes, the man swells into a throbbing shape. Ascending the dune the man slides a smudge in his alligator boots. He struggles against the
At the Prison Her Hands Cling to the Sting of the Wires of the Chain Link Fence. Drained Blue Sky. Staring at the Red-Sign of the Prison Gate. The Placard Reads. There is No Unction for the Destitute.
Unslept prison-guard sleeps in his office of wire-chair. She says in a voice gripping water I’d like to enter please. The desk inside the foyer empty. She is pressing the desk-bell with soft finger tip, the bell-sound lances the room.
The Woman: A Witness
The woman wakes to the pressing weight of the world. Her square sunken room is washed up in boxes to pack, trinkets memories to stuff into the throats of silences. Freedom is a sack of wet feathers, her sternum is
First Kiss
She is not sliding off a cliff stepping into the man’s red car. She is not falling like a Silk porous unbearable hot dusk broken by the murmur. His car engine runs like open Water, I’m stuffed he says, groping