a fire story
Swimming Sunday sequential sets of ten. Outside the northern windows of the indoor pool a polymorphic red soft shape slouches carbon pungent silent giant and limbless; crawling northwest exposing it’s tendrilled belly, intent malformed pensive, a skyward creeping tale of twisting hot cackling wrath from the dry verdant mountains of the east.
Outside the shadowless afternoon wind smells of campfire clothes and the dust that lays waiting beneath the clustered oaks in a Summer California meadow.
The black interior of my convertible is painted with gentle flakes of fragile ash; abstract precise, each fragment a gray remnant of someone’s blackened life, a crow fallen, a pastor's fence post, an album of careful frayed cornered photographs, magazines hidden between angst mattresses, an American pistol that once killed a vicious man on an Austrian Winter hillside, a child’s bird flight painting and the bear magnet on the finger printed refrigerator, a wedding ring placed upon the right hand of a young bride who stood with you in a Spring field of mustard flowers on the Somme, a metal box of forever forgotten awkward high school letters from coy girls you kissed in morning damp graveyards, and everything that will never be yours again.
Outside the shadowless afternoon wind smells of campfire clothes and the dust that lays waiting beneath the clustered oaks in a Summer California meadow.
The black interior of my convertible is painted with gentle flakes of fragile ash; abstract precise, each fragment a gray remnant of someone’s blackened life, a crow fallen, a pastor's fence post, an album of careful frayed cornered photographs, magazines hidden between angst mattresses, an American pistol that once killed a vicious man on an Austrian Winter hillside, a child’s bird flight painting and the bear magnet on the finger printed refrigerator, a wedding ring placed upon the right hand of a young bride who stood with you in a Spring field of mustard flowers on the Somme, a metal box of forever forgotten awkward high school letters from coy girls you kissed in morning damp graveyards, and everything that will never be yours again.