A crowd of people go by. In the anonymity of arms, legs and torsos appearing, mingling, dissolving and disappearing, she appears momentarily distinct. There are people whose presence precedes them, who through some sensation in those about them, announce their arrival. Like the one fish in a school who alters course and all the others pivot about, she has a focus of life-line intensity set forward, wherever forward leads. There is but a glimpse of maroon, of a too-many-serifed "M," then the light casts a shadow along the line between sinew and muscle, dappled autumn sun between bract and branch, a glint off discarded plastic in the gutter. The moment's over, the race continues.
My Heart, My Home
Faceless buildings put up for sale
Shadeless streets home only to weeds
Old men peer through darkened windows
Young men peer through broken glass
Vacant churches house absent gods
Museums of industries' rust
Festivals to honor cultures lost
Cars like the river just passing through
Ultra Loony in jeopardy?
1 day ago