December
Dry dry dry… My today brain rides the same circuit of words like a toy train on a short track. Everything inside ends abruptly. Large intestine, how are you feeling? Kidney, what about you? No stones? Good. Stomach full of chicken ginger soup.
Today she walks in the sun only while taking out the garbage. Both times shielding her face. Protecting her vanity from the external. Jangling her aphorisms. She hurls the bag over the ledge and braces for the clang. Yesterday, dremeling. And tomorrow : she has no patience for the imagination of tomorrow while the December sun
December sun. White. A white hole void of darkness. The most frightening thing there is.
The certainty of sin assures me.
On the freeway lamp post, three crows. They’re not looking at the passing cars they’re looking at the other crows in a wide-branched tree across the way. 6 lane freeways. Fast and smooth. The country’s large intestine. Look at them turn.