Milk Spilling
"Where are we now?" she asked. Clementine looked behind her, past owl creek bridge. She squinted over her shoulder. She saw herself sailing on a tangled ocean among a hundred white ships which are folded into the horizon like whipped egg whites. She saw herself smoking from a pipe while marooned on the island rocks with beautiful merpeople. She looked back and saw movies in the park, sunbathing naked, dancing in white boots, smiles, deer, sunsets, the golf course. She sat down among the fallen leaves and weeped over the milk spilling she will do in libraries and classrooms. She cried for all the boats she would not steal and all the properties she will not tresspass upon and all the music she will not dance to like children of the night.