‘Along Some Final Edge’ by Andrew Bradford

She moves slowly, her steps silent as muffled cries

It wasn’t a promising moment for the Kid; he could see a future failing

Whatever you feel comfortable doing,

is the thing you will not be asked to do

Over yonder in the roomy corner of the mindful awakeness of late afternoon,

one might share a moment of tenderness that flees like a scared insect

Shows her his magic move and wonders how he will ever explain,

the lack of mystery in who he truly is

Beliefs like that take hold in the fetid imagination that festers in the dark silence

Until the most littered tracks of what once was real,

fade to decaying rap sheets of crimes committed out of bloody whimpers

Line creeps forward until it can clearly be seen

That the calling has been nothing more than parroted chatter from a distant eon

Off it all glides

The night reforms around the fading embers of life

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

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