She took the car keys I gave her and drove it right through the front of the yard, burning rubber over the sidewalk, the road, past the stop sign, and a quarter mile down until third gear spun into the torque converter, spilling transmission fluid over the top of the headers, causing a white vapor to rise amongst the disintegrating tire. There was a body a block down, under the blinking light post. It shivered in patterns similar to a dying heart. I remember sitting there, on my porch, watching the injured man, waiting for him to get up, but instead, wolves came.
I've got nothing to say. I know that you stole my lines from the first time. Your purse fell off your shoulders and you knew I knew they were frangible. All I cared about were those lines. You rolled your eyes like comets over Cucamonga peak. I drove off and left your frailty in the summer midnight heat. Your mother said you went missing.
He's an oyster with a grain of sand. The cup's a plastic fitted lid for my grandfather's tomb. I remember the day we severed the thumb from my hand. The gardeners discussed the possibility of eating their young. She ignited the town with her flaming brand. The imagination will continue to need more and more room.
