Tag: Wordles
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1502: Sunday Whirl 744
Plesiosaurs At salty edgesthe beasts drank brineand bit the wind. The tides drag debris;bone, rib, vertebra,a silver scatterunder the tilt of a ruined sky. The jaw of the seacracks open. It does not sip.It slathers rock raw.It vaults the horizonlike a spine snapping. Voices?Gone. Each stitch of speechripped from the throat,salt-packed,swallowed whole. The edges remember.The…
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A Bit of Pure Fiction for Sunday Whirl #280
It’s Never Just About a Back Door Slamming More like a mean demon wind, always bristling against my good nature, banging like iced-cruel fingers, he said, in that way he has with words… The back door slammed again, bruising the door frame. It was already hanging thin by its own echo. Damned kids can’t do anything…
It's Still Life 