Compass
Though the window allows transmission, it also cuts it off. What is the grain of the braindrain? An aisle, a current, a potential impasse. Behind him, his present whenever he wants it.
Compass
American flag bandana wrapped on his head, swastika shooting flames tattooed on his right arm. Flag’s limp, but what does it stand for? The lake curves, dumping sand, families of swimmers. When the sun sets I know where I am.
Compass
Bank of clouds, rain spent a couple hours ago. An unlikely place for a battleship anchor, hundreds of miles from a military port. She went into the bathroom followed by his fantasy. Symphony of crows, clicks of grasshopper, silent traffic on the distant highway.
Compass
One piece is lifting its way out of the puzzle, nudging another along. Town’s lights in the print, so thin along the tops of the hills, push back at the night sky pressing down. No power, nothing to receive. A window’s deceiving.
Compass
Clear again, at least in the sky. Fake grain, fake flames, fake nipple. The people in his peripheral vision are androgynous. Unoccupied cubicles, but can you say that about the minds?
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