June 5, 2012

Winter Scheming

On her way out of the coffee shop, Harvey flashed a last flirtatious grin at the blonde barista behind the counter. The girl lifted her hand in a wave, smiling, before the door shut between them. A surge of warmth rolled down to Harvey’s toes.
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In the Dark

Oh. Listen to the music. Men winding their way home, tired as a birth, tired as a death. The slow death in the mines. Half-broken from cramped agony chopping coal with blunt tools. In the dusk, a choir to sing their way home to sad streets and towns.
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Blocked

I dreamed this in Sihanoukville, a town of new casinos, narrow beaches, hot bushes with flowers that look like daffodils, and even now, after nine years of peace, stark ruined walls with gates that go nowhere. In the dream, I get myself a wife. She’s beautiful, blonde, careworn.
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Wounds

What is involved in the transubstantiation of one thing (Sea foam and mist, scale and sinew, pearl-tinted hands) Into another, quite against its nature, quite against design?
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