Prose

for Rael

I would like to meet people who lack depravity and gravity. This crowd is so wickedly static. And I will surely burn in the heap with the rest, unless I go alone. But this girl unfurls her curls, like chains, and my cries of elated disdain resound as I'm bound down. She laughs at me, as I reel in knotted steel. Tension spreads across us like the dissemination of her redwine tears across the wet cement. We hide knelt beneath a street light. The moon beams white indignation upon us. We cannot see the stars. Tar catches at her heels as she leaves me in the rain, to breathe.
And she will die in Estonia.
And I will die in America.