You're dribbling memories into a journal . . .
pouting a return . . . the scripted line of best fit . . .
opening a door . . . players jumping out of the scatterplot
of your short story . . . spinning . . .
with the elusiveness of clarity . . . of renouncement . . .
but what are you renouncing? . . . this time? . . .
Soon the wintry dawn will collide with shells
ejected from a chamber . . .
The season begins . . .
as if in a flash a tree is taken down by a chainsaw . . .
by the lines in the chainsaw's script . . .
the mandatory eight . . .
All scripted in the moment . . . a return . . . a regression . . .
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| Alina Lebedeva |