Another forming fragment

Work has wrecked me, it’s a rough week there, but I didn’t want to leave this place too fallow.  That’s what’s always happened in the past, and eventually I end up abandoning the weeds and rusting cans to the internet langoliers.  So, to keep some momentum, here’s another fragment, something that I’m toying with…there’s a lot at stake with this one, for personal reasons, and some great stories from the past that tie in, that I’d love to tell if this thing ever fully arrives…but in the meantime, in the spirit of “don’t get it right, just get it written”, here’s something new:


Two Deserts Returned

Weight, and wind, buffeting, still, and still, and still.  His feet, contentious with the ground, carrying him on.  His eyes on the rim, the drawn horizon, plaything and pretend, can’t be real, not where he is, not now, not with this heat, this heated weight, pressing him into his path.

Ivory dust from a fallen tower. Coating his feet as he staggers away.

Staggering is a good word; staggering fits.  He staggers…he is staggering…west or east or somewhere in the folds between.  It doesn’t matter, the sun weighs him as he goes, overhead, shadow burned away.


2 responses to “Another forming fragment

  1. Gods, I hate you.

    You just write this stuff to torment me. You know I’m sitting here screaming, “WHERE’S THE REST, DAMN YOU???”

    I can’t make words do that. I can’t make them sing like that. I can’t make them do the fucking ballet. I really am the blunt force trauma weapon of writing.


    Pretend I said nothing here. I don’t want to jinx you finishing it.

    Damn it.

    Finish it.


  2. I dig this mouthing of each word, tasting the shape of each one. Delicious. It makes his tortured staggering into something lush. Nice alchemy!

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