a fire story

[hadamart4]

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

Comments

[notbatman]

"...and everything that will never be yours again."

Digging this.

Pastor's Fence Post

[hadamart4]

I don't know what happened... I sat down and planned to write about a Pastor in Bosnia who faked his own death, returned from the grave to haunt his wife, tapping on the windows at night, chains and such. On the third night the jam slid off her toast and she shot him in the face with her brother's AK74.

once i waxed poetic:

[thirdkraytwin]

forget me

all you will get for waiting
are broken edicts, empty bibles
some trinkets for your liar's altar
and other maelstrom souvenirs

I like your word pairs. Word pairs are new friends that meet on the neighbours lawn, eating ice out of the same bird bath. Some things made clean, some things sullied forever with a nice fresh patina of grot.

And fuck spell check for not understanding 'grot.'

Re: once i waxed poetic:

[hadamart4]

I think I may re-post a final edit on this one. I do wish that there was more, and there is, though I never drove into the mountains to let the fire touch me the above account was made from within the city where the sky is red and the air yellow and choking nine days later.

It is sad that there may never be bird bath ice narrow sharp and pleasant for my mouth again, not here anyway, everything has changed and will continue become more like Mars and less like Terra each day.