Friday

Burning the offer and walking as fast as he could the man turned around and stamped on his foot.

Pulled about the dark walls the sheets are tight as a horse the storm tugs progess along the pages

And the man speaks light from both feet he is dreading the course his breast is bent and fingers tense

He is playing with bits of gorse hardening in cement he is playing like a ship divides the sea

into port and leward ho the day went kind of slow as his feet touch the lament the deity

of the clouds and the ascent into the sky on heaven sent light

April 8, 8:23