The dust settled down
after you passed, laying on
us all, a thin film
coating every
outcrop of hope or dream left
after our tumble
on this bloodless plain,
this wasted dry and crackled
crush of graveled bones.
December 21, 2010 2:39 AM
This is a fiction, a very short story. Any resemblance to persons living, including myself, are highly amusing accidents.
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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.