taste the cotton candy
through the phone line
and state lines
between my hunger
and nightmares
there are borders
iron gates
wrought with terror
midnight clouds swallow my fingers
morning ties a ribbon behind my back
the sun is a STOP sign
the grass my graveyard
my body hollow
rigid
rigid legs and rigid rules
am I the puppet or the puppeteer?
I smell the cotton candy
through the phone line
across the state line
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181 Keeping Watch
Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
By Gerard DiLeo7 days ago in Fiction
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