Over the hill of horizon the compass desert rose, cactus thorning north, south, east, and wick getting long as day as wax smokes and shrinks. An alcove candles devotion, everything that hope smote. A heavy door seals prayers combustible, an explosion of dove. The gun.
Black lace shadows a dead new bride. Earthquake the new ferry, a Styx with no boatman.
She, buying a pee stick and Chiclets at the 7-11. Making change, the clerk laid silver on her eyes. The fluorescents flickered noon. Pan, read the package of bread. Pan, strobed the retina when the TV went off.
The garage door shakes a train that smells like oily rags. Mom’s home early.