sketches.

her comparisons were too intriguing
a deafening train, pillaging
along dark iron tracks
nearing the indistinguishable edge

with disdain, she said it must be her job
to hurl herself in front of it
and she often did

a sputtering plane nearing
impact with a mountain range
of teeth looming below a false
coverlet of vapor down

her voice could almost be
that of stern reason, even
with the wry lift of her lips

that silken night when logic
dodged a bullet and lay quietly, panting
on the monochromatic wool rug

mosquitoes hummed along
and time filtered though her irises
of a picture you hadn’t seen, with
the words you hadn’t written

© 2.22.12 heather brager