Thursday, April 29, 2010

Residue

The shell casing slow motions skyward, drop-floats back to ryegrass, brass in a tight coat of gunpowder.

Many others, random as dandelions, are found by the sunlight, gathered, handed out to wilt between our fingers, in pockets.

A cousin reminds us to wash with lots of soap after touching them. Lead residue. Still warm in our hands, the poison slow motions, too.

4 comments:

  1. I love this Sheldon. It's so quiet - but still deadly at the end.

    - Felicia

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  2. Thanks, Marlena. It's nice to see you here, doing me the honor of reading my little offerings. It is greatly appreciated.

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  3. Hit me like a sniper's bullet. Well done.

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  4. Cool, Andrew. Hope it's just a flesh wound, though.

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Green Mother joins The Box and the two are doing fine

It's so weird...I'm writing this book The Box now. It's going good. Half finished with the first draft. All nonlinear and disco...