Broken window puffs off the path. The dander of anger shaken from the tree limbs of devastating life. What being am I? Where do I exist? The red clam-colored house in the woods. Ancient two-story architecture. Humble seeds scattered upon the portico. Hazy windows with shadows inside. A bandolier of broken trees, broken dreams, broken bones. Graveyard peace and quiet, the pink bricks scream for mercy, the tattered roof begs for a bandage. A glycerin sun glaze paints smears of gut swirling lamp light brutal beautiful memories. Hurt, like a leprechaun with a broken leg left in a golden field of war.

By

Aaron Echoes August