Daily Prompt

Spun Sugar

Your good mood will you mind if it doesn’t last forever? When you get laughing you must know   it all has to end sometime   spun sugar stays fluffy only as long as it stays dry but sooner or later you find out it’s a rainy climate   The Daily Post

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Fence Line

The matted grass so dense the fencepost I hammer rings jerking from the peen, waving like a stormborne mast until at last it punches through the clang turned to thud soft and unresisting wounding the hillside Weak now, my hands ache as I stretch them in their rotten gloves twisted and black like river trees

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Obvious

It is the obvious thing we find may never be understood, a phantom limb that begs to bear weight The last place we look is where we find it. Only a fool would keep looking, then. A bed showing the shape of sleeper is unmade, sloppy. The pea under the mattress is a thing you

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Jamais Vu, Presque Vu

Jamais vu, never seen an odd impression that you see a common thing you’ve seen a thousand times for the first time the face of a relative, say or the face in the mirror But the mirror doesn’t count, does it? Nobody but you knows what that looks like, backwards, with your best expression frozen

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Quietus

That you said once over eggs the same bird   neither blind nor striking disappointed us all   Yet again here I mourn debt’s sorrow:   an occupant pressed into proper silence   whey veins curled in sheets await the occasion   yearned to be pinned by anything at all     The Daily Post:

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Leopard Circus

The tiger is  a leopard with painted stripes applied while he sleeps he never wonders about these new markings so like the shadows of the bars of his cage where keepers feed him more than he can ever eat, the stench of the rotting carrion assumed to come from him When told the tricks a tiger

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The Malevolence of Everyday Objects

It starts when you ascend the stairs, drop your keys square on your foot kick out and send them rattle-clang smack down the three flights your arms full of groceries, you lose it as the bottom of the sack packed by that lazy pit-faced troglodyte at the Shop-n-Sav gives way when the freezer spinach plastic

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Gone Like a Train

Soft words about how she’s waiting only made it worse. As though her going never counted for shit as though it was only a step in a direction. Why’d they say that I want to know the part about her waiting was just to get me to stop crying, but I think about it now

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Things Take Time

She swore the trench knife she carried in her purse saved her life hitchhiking home. She weighed maybe eighty pounds dirty tight clothes that dared anyone to say shit took the dirty spoon from my dried-up cereal bowl wiped it on her leg tapped out a pile of yellow powder from a film can water

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Whitey’s Ford

Whitey give the pieces of the Ford wrong names but he knew them by sight by feel, hefting every damned one in a greasy hand folks said he was crazy when he’d slither under her amongst the dirt and spiders spending hours and didn’t say much mostly just whistled through his teeth. It took forever

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