Jan 14th, 2010 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Key, copper, brassed to pocket. All my pockets, cash folded at the corners. Dirty, keep my fingers pointed down. Pennies in mouth, brassy taste bitter on my tongue a cancer canker sore. Lincoln freed the slaves. Hopeless. Key in slot, key in slot, key in slot.

Down the stairs, construction lot, empty hole, the copper and stone and concrete, vacated bones, constructed homes. The crane a symbol. The modern bird, flightless, tall, littered in locust stone. Watch the step.

Brick dreams stacked red on red. Maybe brownish red. Brick red. Crayola whitewash. I can’t forget my key ever. Don’t forget.

Genre: Joyce

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