written to a 5 word prompt: chill suitcase tire boarding heel
It was playing static out over the debris of the room, buzzing cathode
white-noise as if a sea of sound was seeking to bury the wreckage.
maybe something here would in the years to come surface anew, lathed
and polished and transformed to be found by a child or an old man some
interested beach comber of the violent new age, maybe it would be art,
the enigma of unknown objects, new meanings sought for and revealed in
the cryptic pieces of a life held in suspension now, re-framed,
revisited and once more in dialogue; a suitcase with its corners
rounded and the lock long rusted, a shoe heel like the fossil tooth of
a mammoth, a station ticket welded to the bed-frame and a boarding
pass frosted by the white-noise and its winter chill.
sometimes the tide can lie as much as any story teller - we are so
sometimes the white-noise of a tv and the cold pixelated light, covers
the sound of quick fleet footsteps and a quiet true self in a hammock
somewhere, or swinging in an old tire in the afternoon sun spinning st
christopher with her fingers and privately laughing.
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