Friday, May 14, 2010

Virginia From Lungs, 1998

Her arms were spotted with marks from the fall. Skin tears in at least a dozen spots where the collagen fibers of the connective tissue had given out, lost flexibility and strength.

They asked if she wanted a preacher in the room and she smiled, swore at them under her breath. You could see she had to work to make it happen.

This is how she died, with skin you could pinch between your fingers and peel from the frame, birdbone wrapped in wind. Making big decisions.


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The Band Marches On

There are still three stories I'm working to finish so I can put this latest collection to bed. Two haven't been started, but I hav...