Danglepoet

Conversation Among the Car and Bodies they looked lovely in the brightest sunflower. I took them for tiny electrons leaping on an empty husk. the hand, out of the car's window, as my pupil, clutched on a deadly hurricane. forgetting the view, he moved gently and his bumper whipped the gnomes away. I thrived in my hormonal flee. it takes minutes to eat red water. his discharge,  a trail of white moisture in the white noise. bodies tangled beneath the whining engine. running and wailing, they cupped the chaos. the bodies, like my baby's stretched in agony, in memorable consciousness. "Are they dead?" is the rule if run-over by a blind headlight. "no, " a huge, raven-like figure flee the site, with a bag of bone as peaceful as the moon's face. his unsteady eyes confessional and bold. maybe, it ferried a child—two years ago—to mind. the snapped elbow. the rising hills on his head and skin. the stubborn