MicroFlashFiction - Steve Coel

Grey Sky Weeping

Here -

Where...isolation is frequently park benched behind littered garden..

Where..sweet song is car windowed..

Where...sprayed agenda becomes wire caged in overgrown broken side street..

Where...twisted knuckle bus stop waiting is grey sky weeping..

Where...gated steel business doors welcome alien van sacks..

is the place language comes to die.

Greedy Laughter

Here-

Where...filmed movement is bound by derelict building and deadwood fire..

Where...silent conversations are concerned and paper free..

Where...official tattooed authority is broken by wired library bench seat..

Where...early evening heron fishing gets plastic bag poison water netted..

Where...greedy laughter clings to painted doorway shadow..

is the place language comes to die.

Frosted Vision

Here -

Where...narrow lane adventures are captured in muddy headlight and cry of tortured bird..

Where...broken lives are inherited..

Where...evening shadows lie distressed on ripped rock and moss border..

Where...isolated youth walk through decades of frosted vision..

Where...small trees blanket fallen brick..

is the place language comes to die.

Fractured Acre

Here -

Where...slim concrete staircases funnel nervous jealous glances..

Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..

Where...young people die old..

Where... unopened doors fade into peeling brick and small bottled yard..

Where...glum dance patters aggressively on fractured acre..

is the place language comes to die.

Escape Bags

Here -

Where...painted grief remains peeled along rubbished waterway..

Where...stabbed fist gestures halt illegal commerce..

Where...distorting voices emerge from collapsed shop door crowd..

Where...coin bagged exchange between enemies is shaped by secret patterned movement..

Where...loose clothing slopes into hidden wood seeking instant escape..

is the place language comes to die.

...we should all read Experimental Short Fiction...

Lee Mackenzie, Poet, Artist