Prelude to a Black Star

She covered her dresses with pockets,
she filled her pockets with stones;
She'd pause at the edge of the midnight streetlight
and peer into the dark, alone.
And reaching into her pocket,
she'd draw forth a handful of weight
And fling it into the blackness,
listening for the sounds it made.
Sometimes it glanced off a trash can lid,
making noises like you might expect
But mostly she stood, ears widened
and waited for it to connect.

photograph by flickr user fishyfish


Anonymous said...

and also this...

Scott said...


Anonymous said...

Oh, *this* is good. :) (Nuclearvenus pointed me to your journal).

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