The Somnambule's Crime
A
Diffident Political Parable
The
river dodged its own blond head falling from a guillotine and fear prompted a
promise to install a calliope in the President’s each boudoir come winter.
Some workman confused a calliope with a comb harmonica. Winter is a clammy
exhalation of chandeliers. An unused postcard sitting upon a white and lit by
the sun’s three panting hammers which have beaten the shadows into roses to
replace human legs which will capsize around the very next bend. The river
promises many pointless things.