top of page

       Black strap shoes turn her feet to a child's. Shallow sicknesses didn't occur. Drown in a bed of pee; do things others don't do; not a normal young face. Slink the innocent adult dreams in quarantine gushing a lather in the cheap plastic pool. Make a hole just for spite. Watch the water pour out, making the dirt mud. Yell an innocent tune to a face inside, cry and get the sympathy.



She sleeps a sleep of unrest. Sleeps a sleep of rarely comforted fear. Sleeps deeply. Dreams to fill in where life leaves out. Dreams of perfection. Of love.


        An actress. A beauty queen. She could be. In her sleep.



Carbonated fizz seeping out the doors, an ocean turret caught to the sand to destroy the cliffs. Marches against the down-sweeping places, pulling everything down to the ground -- a magnet force strange offers arising upon the gradual climates. Partakes, they were, taking everything they could find, while good moments lasted -- torches held in the air to see the flames vending with the breezes from the water, salt currents. Chronologues were written briefly so they could recognize it later as a memorable minute.


        Changing places, they did not want to do. Stealth shown in versions of pamphlets, coached relentlessly by the owners, homing birds that talk. The median side show accompanied the band in spirited rounds of needles passed to the folklore buffs. Syncopated sticking, around the clock, jabs in teh ribs or other parts of the body were the best ways to handle the sharp points. Notions parallel counters filled with expensive jewelry, created for a countess who didn't show up properly. A splash, an entrance.

        They applauded. For her to be there was a privilege. Savers kept every moment to bequeath their bulging scrapbooks. Heat ovens cooked a lamb to crisp perfection, and wines choses by head clerks at variety stores were used, exchanging labels.


copyright © 2017 d.jaffe  - all rights reserved

bottom of page