Prose 2022

Don't misunderstand: She felt more guilt than any of the virgin martyrs  and their hapless counterparts allegedly in heaven, but such guilt would never be enough to match what she had done and failed to do. As she prepared to let herself drift off to sleep she began recording in specific detail each one  of her commissions and omissions and pined and writhed and empathized with everyone she had ever hurt especially the ones she loved the most not including of course herself

A ball of bloat pushed across the net becomes the property the problem the job of the other side. The opponent thus becomes the prima facia advocate who prompts uncanny excellence. One wants to be the character in the beloved book and hushed into an inner being recognizable as quiescent. 

Fistfuls of rice tossed zigzag to celebrate. What wants what if sumatra thins in the copper pan as watching is itself a little voyage spintering the spurs and choice confesssions. Vertigo impends. The bluebird shrills toward laxity as brain fray lingers hostage in a bray. Whole momentum parses what it parches in the brush of window light a sleight of handsome that defrays a ner facsimile of lust. Romance turns bust approaching the corner lot of imposition. Near neighborly feeling lifts the fantasy all is right with whirled guava pinked with shoreline. A version of aversion slumps beside the polished pane resisting full frontal evidence. The patchwork of a lifeline caffeined out of poise goes limber for a spell then withers homeward.  Posture, pasture, small remittance 

He held in mind a video of his reign as the supreme leader of all living and non-living beings with a self-replicating acclaim for his greatness. He ordered a yearly jubilee year of his being crowned the greatest of the great ones, during which marching bands from every corner of the earth would appear in full regalia performing brass, woodwind, and percussion instruments to perfection. No level of expenditure would be enough; each successive annual celebration would exceed all prior extravaganzas. He harped on his deservedness wherever an audience would emerge. When at last he had persuaded a sufficient number of weary listeners to heed his call, the first of many celebrations came to fruition. To his dismay, the musical assemblage consisted of 1,000 flutophones, white plastic flutes the young players could clean with soap and warm water and afford. 

She is at liberty to share what has happened in her head. The rain light parses fact. She reports the wind and furniture landed in yards and pools as she has lifted beyond norms and grooves of usual chronology. I listen with my pencil recently carved now poised to capture. She knows unfettered ways of knowing from her bed bound authority that frees us all. There was the color wind last night erasing all facsimiles of anchored place that hollows out reality we think we need.

People gather and express their loss in a quiet way at slow speed, just savoring together the comfort of sharing how subtraction feels to heart and skin. One among them is the first to try to claim the place that's opened up by way of the departure. Missing the point of sadness and rushing to fatten up the coffer at the first chance.