I will not mow the lawn. Not today.
Garner – all bone and sinew, an easy smile and tired eyes – had leaned out his window (maybe just to get air) and then (all bone and sinew) caught momentary flight...
The gutter is stained with lives...
...an island that, itself, was here.
"There's blood in the water all over the place around here," Clem told me.
...the paper itself will come apart, will dis-integrate, will allow itself to let go of itself, each piece becoming a new entity apart from the whole.
His fingers were soft, his lips delicate.
For now though, there was a hitch in my gate, a stutter in my stride. I moved like a broken automaton, a machine aware of the hows of survival but unaware of the whys of survival. I pulled my lips back from my teeth, licked my lips, and repeated that motion five times to loosen up the muscles that allow such an facial expression.
There is a crease in my sleeve... what does it prophecy?