dark as dark — held secret in TV's hoarse static. lining up and scuttling across the thoroughfares, vineyards wrung out of blood, stomped, crevasse pithless. willowed and scrunched up, a camouflage of sorts to masquerade proper terrors.
ripe for Decembertime. magnanimous assault of buses athwart carts jaded somewhere between the bend and the fang, shadow upon *** of shadow and the jiggling of loose change in mired pockets igniting a cadence of dithered flame. later, the lights will cross-fade into criss-cross. x marks the spot of burials. content with locks secured by keys and vice versa. hermetic word sealed shut in the eyes of the sleepless children. naiveties suckling our mothers. songs stifling our fathers. bamboozle of radio intensifies to raw warfare.
our dangers go to work, unfurling age. septuagenarian is rare, and in any common rate, death teems full in the disappearance of mornings promising river-flown stories of how everything was once in our hands.