Flies
2020 March 15 · 128 words · 1 min



Skipping two stones that hit,
waiting, filing my nails.

Hung words to dry
over the same long lakeshore,
I rock it out of them.
Someday, my aunt says,

someday, she always had
a thing for adverbs,
this place'll be zapped, evap-ed,
flat like a bug.

Her dog chases my stones.
He waddles, uninterested,
missing one leg,
he lost in the war

but still smiles like tin.
I return to the emery board.
while true == 0:
Keep cycling

while I sit, wondering
at the raw iron smell
seeping from the gut
of a simple pond.

He sniffs at my arm.
An infinite loop
is actually very small
,
I tell my aunt.

She doesn't ask
where it goes,
but beats at the line,
Still wet. Soon, soon!

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