Mini-ature

This quick session is meant for
      the five seconds of Saturday in which

    the car pulled up to the curb in my peripheral,
and I glanced over, excited,
            anticipating.

  He, the gray haired professional spectre
          steps from the 760 li,

      I feel paralyzed with fear,
  he draws,

  fires four beady little puffs lazily,

        they burst the window - all of this with

        the frame-rate
                    of an important scene,

    the edges of my eyes crinkle,
            an acetone blush
      spreading.

              I am dead
        on the floor of the library
and the world

  is all
            thrumming
    all frigid
                alive

  disinterested,

          still chortling like the car's engine.

  In my last few moments before the end I make a linear
path  in my mind clear    and bold and painful
              through all my mistakes and
                      misgivings, regrets
                set free,    conversations murdered,
                        thrumming hearts stilled with
                            dead apathetic cheekbone
                                  backdrops.    The same themes
              to the same story as the color and warmth fleeing
                              like scent from bread or other things
  from other things,
            here at the finish.



All of this
  in a quiet town, five seconds of a dream two blocks
        from an