GRYMME ANCHORS
When there is wind it is silent like a beam shoving off the corner of a deadly image patiently waiting for someone to find the corpse underneath its’ heavy grill sautéing the meat with an impenetrable burdening to quiet the silence, too much of a burden to quiet the screams that fracture in the dense air, to pop slowly so the noise is breath taking, too much to swallow, too much to lift out of his or her lungs in order to use those bludgeoned vocals, they tire with deprivation. The little space we call a back shield window traces from their position frame by frame and debated whether the group of tawny striped ants on the road were doubling in stature. The window side, where their special fun-sized decal sticker rested; near the twisty antennae was a reminder of the cultivation of earnest eating pepped up close and divided into seamless screw top; easy open; open top; and a variety of covers, seals, caps and sealing machinery metal compartments. This thought sent enough channels to make ethereal Canals throughout their bodies.
However the negative space that vehicle had infecting their eyes with the lost view of juvenile delinquents ripening at the hip inside a locked moving tin can. Mouths dropped like T.V Fuzz plummeting a once flourished afternoon. Even the doubtless storm of vitality voided their location and took their faceless exteriors as a sign of resolution; illegitimately stretching a desperate ultimatum toward no end ensuring that we do stand there, of the silence in the wind. Oasis, there was no oasis, only the faint alluring moisture from the sand’s texture. Water, there is no water, just the faint images of where people crisscrossed ankles with one another, slap boning the slides of their feet moving against texture underneath layers of the pudding sand. There were foot prints all facing the sand dunes secreting astonish able amounts of thick moisture into its abyss…
A crowd, not a single crop circle within sight, but back at their house, a few blocks previously, him and her, her and him had each other. Their characterized by The Younger brother of adolescence and The Older Sister of adulthood. “The Younger”, “The Older”.
The younger was ready, hands in front of his knees were parallel to his thumbs pointing outward while his index finger imprint relied on the ground to loosen the compression that was holding the length of his arms reversing up the stream of suspending flesh that disconnects his bones and veins in a continuous forward contraction separating a bulk of the head sagging from the ovoid pinnacle of his shoulders. A head that sagged so low, casted shadows of sweat following inches above the starting line; with only its fragile trudging, slowly drops in gratitude solidifying on the panel floor tiles extending the wasted hope of a hand toward the stairs almost as if The younger was surrounding a plea towards the faint voice on top of the next floor.
There was a constant ignorance of bickering entering through one ear, flushing out from the next. He hears a linear equation starting from the shoulder, head, transitioning in a complete wind up to the other shoulder in a perfect pendulum shattering defiant echoes implicating in out his entire body revealing a most sincere ostracism. It goes down beside all the churning moisture entering a receiving intestines swallowing the necessary minerals to survive although if causing an invasion inside his stomach that forces a believer to come to the assumption that he’s making a sheet of popcorn, sprouting from the organs to the under layer of the belly button. This makes it apparent, The Younger spews out breath of healthy chicken breasts, a Greek salad from the orchids, and rice with a side beverage of Cool-Aid; yet in reality it is belching facades of imaginary temptations. A simple crack in the pendulum leads him in a face down position, freely liquidating comforting lies in between the hard board. It creeks of cautious smells from the supply closet.
One of the few whiffs were from pin sol, bleach to borax strangling every nerve he once had as the concentration lingered him to recall a tedious prediction dwelling from his secondary nature. The smell was more like foreign people in hospital beds and the doctors were undeniably indistinguishable from probers trying so desperately to resuscitate those on the verge of extinction with foreign drugs and chemicals. Just as the thought drained The Younger of his provision for substance and health thinking fast down the toilet. His insides were growling echoes off impulse grappling that thang to survive concept was to get a hold of some unconventional material that’s approved by the connections processing from the cerebrum to the imprints squeezing the life out of the edible computations making the final toss with his whole palm and last heavy partying heart beats stretching in a frame by frame direction into the mechanics of a rusty flopped arm piece moving on its own craning two points on his index finger and thumb mining his nutritional needs in a soft connotation.