On leaving town, the storm slammed the back door shut and taking a few breaths, a short rest, returned for another night of gust and blow.
November's trees, nearly undressed and clinging to a few scraps of yellow and brown rags, tightened their grip on bark and branch; reluctant trance dancers, arms upraised, silhouetes against failing day grim cloud skies. Homeless and discarded, brown leaves danced a twist with plastic scraps and paper cups, while poles vibrated and fiddled their lines. The pounding of frantic slapping screen doors, asking to come inside and the drum rolls of errant garbage cans somersaulting. Wind chimes wildly clanking, the constant crashing of glasses dropped from high. Warm and furious, the wind shook the town tried to peel the asphalt off our streets.
I went outside for the massage and sights while cozy moles slept peacefully deep underground.
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About Me
- roberto kiam borderlineartist@gmail.com
- I live in a quaint, little town, plagued with the specter of speculation and commerce. I am trailer trash,with wishes for good dishes. I shoulda died long ago, but like a rescue dog, didn't. I am indescribably scattered. I speak three languages. I walk a tenuously, true path. I am lucky. For myself, for others. God, it is said, protects orphans, widows and the innocent.
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