December 03, 2010 - 4:41
Sick and panting. On all fours. Splay my shoulder blades like wing stumps. A perfect Chariot.
The skyline is dim lavender. Black grass silhouettes, rushes. Red and black insects worm in and out of the pockmarks of the foundation.
A haircut on the porch. Losing more hair than I can grow in as many years and half I'd lived. The brush of my sister's hands at the nape of my neck. Growing more and more uneven, having less and less to lose. A shocking shot of water on the forehead.
A rat in the bathtub. My parent's mattress on the floor. Marooned standing on the table in the middle of the barren kitchen. A rat the size of my forearm circling. The outside always came in.
My father gave Elijah a bloody nose around that time. He was just a boy.
Across the street I saw lava rock for the first time and believed it had all fallen from Mars, the Red Planet.
Spying on the silhouettes of my sister and her schoolmate Star. A lantern in a tent, low whispers/giggles. Star wore her hair in a black sheet.
The ditch which was the stage for the first death dream I can recall.
The barn: sheets of marble, Kris' Kids painted sign, wooden, ravaged. White, Blue, Yellow.
Defunct and rotting chicken coop. Copper bedstead. Rusty Nails.
Little Shed. Plaster Food.
Glass Coke Bottle.