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It is the first year without cicadas. You walk through the arboretum and plunge into the flowerless shrubs, whistling to cover up the silence. Dead leaves crunch underneath your feet. You hold the case gingerly, stretched away from your body as if it is a bomb. Maybe it is. You can never tell with technology. &nb...
Cicadas (A Futuristic Microfiction Piece)
Aug 08, 2022
8 visualizzazioni
you throw money at the land and sprout houses and driveways and fences stitched into the red clay my clay sharp angles don’t belong in nature don’t belong anywhere especially not here Twain said the world doesn’t owe you anything and he was right the dirt was here first you don’t get to rip away the life and dig around for favors all the softness is shrinking because you cover and cover an...
Red Clay (A Poem)
Aug 03, 2022
18 visualizzazioni