The Somnambule's Crime
Exhausted
Feathers
The festival fathers released the garland of cobras into the fake Russian snow being sprayed upon the shopping mall pavement. The loudspeakers are recessed in a vast flesh-colored smoke drifting slightly southward from the celebrated TV cowboy’s head. We are walking toward a sociable flicker of exhausted feathers. And mother is bringing up the rear sopping it all up with a piece of cold toast like a flag.