I don’t like the previous entry, and I like this one a lot less than I did when it was still in my head. Hmm.
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Still Lives Part Four
The chair has worn its spot into the porch, the legs immovable, and his eyebrows are thunderclouds (his pupils flash dry lightning) regally presiding over a desiccated landscape riddled with faultlines. Wiry, his body is hunched tensely forward onto a thin rowan-carved cane, looking for all the world like a clock ready to strike an hour that will never come. At night, they say, his teeth sparkle diamondlike.