It didn't end well, so we left the corpse tiptoeing in the parking lot and set out looking for home. There were too many exits to check and too much framed void over the highway. Magpies seemed to think we were just moving roadkill, or something made for their kinky amusement, but didn’t dare to approach the car. We are not fucking living in a horror story, you kept saying over and over again. Sure we are, I thought. Dusty beings from pre-Christian legends hid in the scrub, or maybe on the fringes of our tattered souls. If we had caught one, we would have been rich. But how? The earth didn’t even feel their steps. As Usual As usual, garden statues spend holidays on the Moon. With the help of a distant star and a loony tree autistic animals collect alien sins, while insects learn to play jazz in the snow. Whisper Chapped hands, cracked eyeglasses, banana peels and empty bottles on the clouds, forgotten paperbacks of the Nobel laureates in the public restrooms, boredom as the source of beatitude, winter houseflies mad like the goddesses of whisper. Bio: Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. His poems have been recently published in SORTES, Mad Swirl, Arc Magazine, and Angel Rust. He is the author of the book Habits of Totems (Impspired, 2021). He can be found online on Twitter @habitsoftotems or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ivan.peledov. A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Ivan Peledov
It didn’t end well, so we left the corpse
tiptoeing in the parking lot and set out looking for home.
this line is intruiging and funny too
i likethe refernce to The Birds
and then the pagan imagery spirituality
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Thank you for your comment, Alexander. I have watched The Birds, if you mean the Hitchcock film, but haven’t thought about the connection. It’s interesting. Actually, I was just hiking once and noticed some animal disappearing in the bushes. Then it all went very fast, I sat on a boulder and wrote it.