it bores into you with a single murky eye. But you do not see.
A single thread lies across her knees. So she takes the silver blade, and snips.
Lucy took her little daughter on a walk along a track by the sea, dotted with pines curved and battered…
What is this devilish blossom? Who would create such a thing?
I could spend a hundred days completing a hundred crossword puzzles…
a reflection of ambition, written in blank verse.
But the scrambled eggs are there
The lighthouse wouldn’t be far, he told himself.
Momentarily stricken, she wonders where stars go to die.
Eyes closed in eternal slumber. Waiting, waiting.