The exuberant clay fork turns
Our broken sun picking off history
Little bits
We measured indifference, we fake this

Thus:

Plain, a woman sealed in a metal tube
Exploded politely and rendered a blinking dot, skyward
An old tendril, snakes through two decades and carries
Electric love, and patience

The loss of youth’s shame, it’s fermented hopelessness
A banal mortal subjugation, splayed fingers is defense
Sad face in electric pin-points, insincere

I’m begging for more time.
_________________________________________________________________________

She had to warn him.  Turn back.

Plum-bruises and strawberry-wounds roughed her clean sight all fuzzy-wuzzy, blackberry scabs seal her voice.  But wavy silver  walls,  bare points of electric bulbs  and regular, measured pine plank ribs, they talk: drug-clotted clues say you’re in a shed.  Factory ropes, retail spider-webs, hooks and weak muscles, she is pinned to a gurney , a caught butterfly specimen.  She is tagged for freight.  She is neutered slurry-eyed incomprehension.

They announced themselves as doctors, making grand, sweeping movements with their arms. And they get to work.

Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved