By Brandi Lynn
The truck sped off, laughter trailing in the exhaust. I knelt by the gutter where you lay, a ‘trash panda’ tossed aside. They saw only filth; I saw your hands—those nimble, five-toed architects of the night. I felt the warmth fading from your anti-glare mask.
Somewhere, a hollow tree holds a hunger only you can feed; mouths wait for a mother who is now just detritus. I stood. The moon hit the asphalt. Go. Use those clever, unwashed fingers to unlatch the back door of their subconscious. Scavenge through their peace. Leave nothing but the cold, silver scraps of regret.
So dark and poetic (five-toed architects of the night!). This will stick with me a while. Excellent piece.
Beautifully written. Love the poetic imagery.