What Remains

April 1, 2009 § 6 Comments







There’s a distance that happens

as I reach the peak, a blueness, bold –  

then yellow –  settling in my brittle bones. It comes
upon and after the rhythm has commenced, the rocking pulse of
liquid coursing in

extended veins, pushed past themselves too much too long;  

a pulse that not-so-gently plots its course while sweeping bare the

fallen underfoot. They are swept away, poisoned
by its intent: its duty is to kill – not maim –
as it tackles what remains.

And what remains has been removed, but what remains – invisible –

is what remains.




 Writer’s Digest prompt April 1, 2009

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