Storms

18 Jul

Quickly. Scratch out the details, the dates.
Commit to memory then quickly hold paper to lit match.
Before they peek through holes in walls. Before they come.
This is the man who disappeared.
And re-appeared back in the fall, in the middle of the rainstorms, carrying photos of husbands and wives caught in compromising positions.
Only none of it was real.
This is the man who disappeared and was turned after three years in a salt mine. Was turned and trained: What is 1 + 1?
–Whatever you say it is.
Here is the boy at the seaside listening to Radio Free Europe on shortwave. Transmission isn’t coming in clear. Jammed.
Quickly. Scratch out the details, the dates, take a photo.
I won’t recognize this dirty-blonde spirit in two decades. He will have disappeared with the rest of them. In a forgotten country, in a different time. He will have, perhaps, been turned also. In a salt mine. With the rest of them; his sense of mathematics tweaked and re-educated.
Quickly. Hold paper to lit match.

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