6 days ago - 
1
1
Errant and Trailing
These things are worthy of obsessive attention, of having a life built around them.
excerpt sandwich (photo sets=bread)
Each of her strides led a foot down flat scooping backwards into the dirt. The nubs of her thin shoes clawed through to hard-packed soil. The straight back and upheld chest; the loose hands, circling forward and petting the air; and the legs, winding from her hips, gliding her feet low over the ground, were that of a runner. The weight of her rolled off the toes and down the path. Her nose pulled in each weightless moment and her lips did not part.
She had learned to build fires that left embers to begin again from in the mornings. She would recline the seats and sleep in her hatchback-wagon. She’d come to the forest to sweat her faces off and scream at the scrubland, drawing from where cunctation and longing collected as thin layers of tar, threatening to fill the recesses and close the open spaces that allowed her to breath. She would run. Trying to distinguish the noise and pace and promise of the city from her own, she would breath.
1 week ago - 2
2
Fridge Poem
