Sunday, November 09, 2008

There's one tiny scrap of cloud up in the big clear sky. It's small and lonely and fat, like a cloud drawn in a child's picture. The wind carries it fast, and it stretches, and it isn't fat at all, but bunched up, now reaching out like an animal in gallop, and even as I watch the sky breathes it in and it's gone.

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous9/11/08 04:27

    Fucking Christ, you make me sick! So effortless, your prose.

    Really, what are you doing with yourself? With your talent? Can I hire you to launch my sad little career?

    -- Ennis Drake