Friday, January 19, 2018

Bleak House

Look up!
Their spinal columns, vertebrae calcified neck to shoulder tops, allow no such box to tick.
I’m talking to you little thing.
The helmets gleam in formation under the dim light of the clean room, bleach perfumed.
Albarithm taps the plastic with the grubby edge of a slightly-longer-than-necessary fingernail.
Had any thoughts lately?
On what we spoke about the other day?
Here hangs the kind of silence that follows after words are spoken in an empty room.
Albarithm sighs and moves on, two times Huh? in one day.
Things are looking up.

Tales for an attention deficit world

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