Micro Memoir 10 PM

It is late. The day was like a forest of stone with stringent ballads. Some sang the songs, some did not. Most tried to navigate between lithic trees. I have been in more than one ossuary on my travels. Skulls lined up like nouns for school children. Don’t look at me ironically with your post-modern peepers. The falling we will do ere long will be without end. 

  

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Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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