a deafening train, pillaging
along dark iron tracks
nearing the indistinguishable edge
with disdain, she said it must be her job
to hurl herself in front of it
and she often did
a sputtering plane nearing
impact with a mountain range
of teeth looming below a false
coverlet of vapor down
her voice could almost be
that of stern reason, even
with the wry lift of her lips
that silken night when logic
dodged a bullet and lay quietly, panting
on the monochromatic wool rug
mosquitoes hummed along
and time filtered though her irises
of a picture you hadn’t seen, with
the words you hadn’t written
© 2.22.12 heather brager
About Heather Brager:
Heather is a professional multi-tasker, mother and life-long procrastinator. She collaborates and co-habitates with writer A.g. Synclair in SW Montana, and her poetry and drawings can be found in a variety of online and print publications.
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