This week’s selection.

5980.
Sign on a gas station along a lonely road:
no clues no conjures no curios
no credit cards accepted

 
5981.
a row of washing machines
your pink bra flashing by the window
It’s like it’s signaling me

5982.
Engine revs Metal clangs expands and contracts
The beat of the shiny heart is relentless
The rocket ship takes off

5983.
how that hour
can be such a free-running sieve
that pre-dawn post-nightmare
talking in your sleep hour

5984.
The cold sunshine bears down on the open grave
The stiff breeze rattles the floral tributes
Their ribbons snap in a festive kind of way.
It seems disrespectful.

5985.
These quarrels. Their infernal high-pitched shrieks
Thud of thrown shoes. Smell of burning silk neckties.
Sizzle of a cell phone dropped in the bathtub. Again.
These quarrels.