Saturday Scribes, short story

lacuna

saturdayscribes: theme: failure to communicate; words/phases: consuming wounds prophet
photo: Mike Rodriquez, flickr

on the way to portland
we passed the columbia river
at least a hundred times
back and forth
side by side

almost hypnotizing
windswept waters
shifted the want of talk

the radio station crackled
some dj prophet spoke of love
mysterious crazy love
he cooed as a dove and played
jimi hendrix little wing

the hours stretched
as a white empty canvas
waiting for paint
propped up against
a thousand others

interrupting time
i slept a short while
and while dreaming
tiny little blood beads
dropped with little hesitation
opening and oozing

a couple of old wounds resurface
sang out in acapello a song
familiar yet ungettable
and when i reached out
to soothe the smear
they sprouted a hundred hairy tiny
little funny legs
and ran away

Standard

writing is everything...

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