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Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Rachel Kearney-

The Little Things

Ripple effects are falsity when
truth is lying. Dominoes
topple like meteoric waterfalls,
if waterfalls were acidic.
                        You've etched those words
                        of neglect, of nothing. And
                        they haunt. Like
waterfalls, they cascade from
the eyes, from the mouth,
from the mind. It follows
current by current
streams of bullet gold
                        and of silverfish minutia.

   We, of harshened callous
run intersecting to all. Ink
runs black. To
            run down faces and
   raccoons on the street. What
we do and have done
   will run across us like street rats.
   Like water to fall
and rusted clocks to
   Gravity to fall.


Mesh doors stop the
   light from ripping us away.
Our safety is the
promised refuge. Dotted
lines drew us away
            from the point of ammunition.
The range of attributes
   shimmers from silver to
black as if fish
   possessed no scales. Only
our light is forfeit
   in spotted brightness.
The sunsets are falling
again, and brown dust
            sands my lungs.
We share fault in this

Rachel Kearney is a writer based in the southwestern United States. 
She is currently writing the last few thousand words of her novel, and 
has work either forthcoming or published in Poetry Quarterly, Eunoia
Review, and Quantum Poetry Magazine, among others...

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