NaPoWriMo 8

The Allegory of the Email
for Sarah F

We watch eggs break—bones
picked out from several others.
In an empty cable, next to a 
wall in shadow, so many theaters
of voice converge, a shade of 
gray brought forward. Charlotte—
the customer—her heart moves 
	as water edges against her.

Her hair is weather patterns—
a spark pulling thru. Her hours are 
paint, William Blake, shark penises
—under the wall we sit listening 
slowly to paws tap glass.

Below, the town withers, twines
its ropey recession around & around.

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