Lot

The lot sloped up from the road, grasses and weeds growing between rocks lodged into the side of the mountain. Above it on either side stilt houses stood, accessible from a higher road. A faded for sale sign hung on the metal fence around the property. One of the ropes had frayed with the desert wind and broke off, so the sign rested at a slant. The remaining rope held taut, its strands bulging against each other with the force of gravity. 

Upon the sign were two prices written in red ink, then scribbled over in black. A third, lower than the rest, was forced onto the edge, circled twice, and noted “final final price.”

No. 147

Paper Cup

Abandoned paper cup on dewy grass, warm coffee seeping through the cracks; the bugs all crawl to find a caffeine spring and rise in jubilation—boundaries exposed (cardboard taking time to decompose)—

No. 085

Clouds

Thoughts like clouds pass through my mind: amorphous, mutable, transforming into shapes, distinguishable for seconds then evaporated; darkness enveloping, intruding; dark rainclouds with horrible droplets—learning to let them pass, observe the shape, acknowledge the thought. Only something you experience. 

No. 012