Sounds like Bird

fiction:  a heaven’s view of birch bet and some cyanide. On some printed paper with

no shown Up by-line.     look for a different word for Sound

the frame panels repeated-ly “grabbed” turned to the retching trouser. A lay-out

of garden jardin teal’s and wire. A place nothing Steel ; a gate knob

that nothing pays magazines that aren’t free ; but are

a leaf cup on the sweat inside shoulder a Kiss to yourself there

and hanging still sandbags; against ropes

again st. s and baking roofs and not rooves.

They pound bye.


{ fiction to post, continued : It’s st.

I remember these girls

spread out on

this dog’s lawn ;

while he was

resting inside his giant  mountain

house ;

they didn’t belong and neither did

the woman in a skirt stalking

their parents

and     when I saw the chalk in the

moss the tractor and purple in

a backpack;

I remembered  the art I

we wee wee oui

first saw in the fist-shaped

wire sprawl futuristic

modern for even

the ’90s.

and a sign that says,

“public resting” . (the second quotations and period end at the same time)   }


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