ArchiveJune 2014

The Line

Foot late to brake.
Rubber laps the line.
Fingers unclench.

Those Things We Do

Do we matter if no one cares for, or about, those things we do?
If not, are we not already dead?


It catches the wind and for all its flapping cannot move. I watch it silently. From a distance. From here it is unidentifiable: its only feature a pair of metronomic wings. Long seconds pass and we...