2007-11-17

pornado

1. I grey myself in the quiet fade of Saturdays. Satellites process data concerning the geometry of hands, the symmetry of skeletons, and crime waves lapping vectors of isolation and loneliness. I forgot the taste of my own voice.

2. You have a memory of many winters, the ocean ringing its bell in the shell of your hand cupped around your ear.

3. Some fear the shadows of second-hand bookstores in the late afternoon. Others fear the diving board planking the deep end of an empty swimming pool. Turn the sky down, light the liquor store signs. Security guards patrol the office towers, the waxed floors of the cafeteria. I hold my breath in the palm of my hand as streetlights pound the shadows. I take my time crossing the parking lots of a world closing down.