Saturday, September 11, 2010


She'll thin out the flock
and when shes done
a vanilla cream coffee
with steaming hot double helix
obscures the rabbit ears
gripped in her long cold fingers,

trailing off and on
like the dawn on a late summer morning
when the sun can't decide
if it's night
or day
and the trees lie awake
waiting to be left behind
through the fall,

the rug beneath her
is tracking a foreign substance
red mud and stained crimson
so dark its blacker than night
and made of life,

left wandering out
somewhere in the past-present
she finishes her job,
and before we part ways
she raises a hand
a glove
a weapon
a truth
and the last image we see are
the tiny drops of harmless blood on her shoes

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