a latched screen door that will never quite close
1/
a crow on a telephone wire suspended on one bony foot
the other chopped off and left somewhere behind
perhaps it is good luck if you find it
perhaps it would make a tasty stew
2/
a girl walks out of a consignment store wearing a pink dress and not much else
the zipper down her small back still half undone
and while I am wishing gravity would finish the job and thirsty for her shoulder blades
she turns towards her reflection in the window pane and lights a cigarette
we watch as the smoke twist from the corner of her lips
3/
down by the railroad tracks
the ghosts of the underpaid still shoulder heavy loads
4/
my mind
is a horse falling from a height that it was not meant for
twin nostrils flared with desire and the smell of the sea
swimming in the air before drowning on the ground
- - - - - -
Apricots exist. Dustin Acton exists.
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