Saturday, June 20, 2009
She entered the ocean. Shunned the tiny climbers into the sand, they wigged her. She grew wings because of the black-headed gulls. More intelligent, sandwich grabbing gulls. She ate fudge, lounged not at all, whipped children over waves by their armpits. When the scary-eyed scubaman at the boardwalk museum asked for her ticket, her or a child began and could not stop screaming. The cake was tense. Her ankles wobbled through gate after gate at the nearby racetrack. Nothing goes fast enough. Every single large thing has already fled after a rabbit or fox. The tiny climbers up into the world center thread through the dream. Black mosquitoes circle her head, their dangling limbs. The deer not retreating from the highway into the pines. The deer still. Hydrangeas, azaleas, begonias, boo. A million burrowings. Each wave unearthing what does not wish brought to light. Blood--its simmering bisque a mere meter below the beaten sand.
Posted by kirsten at 6:36 AM