The intelligence of crows:
She told me that her true smile was reserved, and that all we get is
a drunken, mangled thing; an attempt at faking her way through another
pointless evening, tired and alone. She told me her smile existed
somewhere in memory, a pinprick on the periphery, like Carl Sagan’s earth
or the quickly fading lights of cars speeding away.
She laughed simulacra at the rambling jokes of those that keep
the time until something better comes along. She tried to stop when I was
around, so we cried together instead.
We woke with the smell of sleep, red eyed and innocent. We
dressed and lifted our lips in false greeting. The sunlight was languishing
in the clouds as we walked hand in hand. Her hair was tangled with the
sunlight as our eyes met in mourning, lamentations for what would be left
behind.
This piece originally appeared in the short story/poetry collection, the void sutras
Alexx Bollen is host of The Alexxcast
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