Saturday, November 3, 2012

100 Words a Day v.10

November 3rd, 2012 

Like a pack of virgins entering the party, you leave with two black eyes and a wonder to look at. 

You hallow out those eyes and point to the sky:  there, you say, there is where the killings stop.

And as you point, from up there, where the killings stop, down floats a feather which lands at your feet. 

This feather was from the last dead bird of the day, as if the paradise you know can go fuck itself. A man with a shotgun comes by and tells you:

You come up now, or don’t come here no more...