MicroFlashFiction - Steve Coel

Grilled Walls

Here -

Where...saw dust machine driving is echoed across water and back yard..

Where...rusting district wires hang bird mirage nested along defined grid route..

Where...illegal paper is scratched from power grilled wall and street light post..

Where...stained half lit drinking rooms spill simple ideas on to wooden floor..

Where...dry air cycle pavement dealing is fence chain bagged..

is the place language comes to die.

Grey Water

Here -

Where...hollow buildings shadow painted monument...

Where...decaying plastic childhood lies perched on slopes of tall stripped tree...

Where...repaired jigsaw roads wait for seasonal pacing and frosty mornings...

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

Where...daily traumas function alongside hidden rumour...

is the place language comes to die.

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.