albatross.

dawn

summer was spring loaded.

blasted right past us in slow motion.

wasn’t planning to stay up late, but the weather in New Orleans was for once, willing to keep its business to itself. silent hand sending a light shade of violet across the window, outlining the treetops. giving just a bit of gratitude to the fence between neighbors, rooftop pyramids. layered grapefruit smudges beyond white streetlights. abandoned car at the end of the driveway, plates missing, no telling when our absentee owner would be back to claim it. silent red and blue flashing through, other side of the block. cleaning up the mess of one or two, maybe as many as four gunshots earlier that evening. a little pink sneaking into the sky. bringing up the uncomfortable subject of clouds. only three or four, jet black. tortoise shells suspended,  just a few miles from the sea. poured myself another whimper of red, as the morning began to spread.

inside wasn’t looking so hot. seven or so empty bottles of screw tops. ashtrays gone gray. pages, notebooks, a ceiling fan rattling tiny notes, empty bottle of mustard lying down across business cards nobody wanted. futon doubled over. cardboard boxes stuffed, one or two perched on a fold out chair. navy blue carpet hiding stains, smells, insect eggs, covered with what could be called dirty laundry. broken window pane on a side door, leading outside, where the picture was nearing perfect.

enough to get the first bird singing.

a few others like paper dolls against the pastel sunrise.

all signs telling the cops at the other end of the block to turn off their lights.

to call it a day, this morning.

i lit another cigarette, laying odds that things had turned out alright.

every slug missing its mark.

steel barrel pointed to the sky, punctures, letting the light bleed in.

spreading out over the Crescent City.

i took one last look out the window and noticed the treetops had grown.

covered the buildings of the CBD with their own shade of wild, carnivorous green.

…and the clouds caught fire.

###

in print:

Amazon.com

or for fucking free in digital

Smashwords.com

so long and thanks for all the pish.

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