by jesse s mitchell
illustrated by rhoda penmarq
 A pair of bright green eyes, opening and shutting in the dark, like passing clouds, striking lightening, striking the iron, the iron of earth...red red flesh, Adam, Eden, paradise...striking iron red hot…two red hot bright green eyes. A pair of eyes almost nothing else, his mind so disembodied now there was nearly nothing left, but vision,  fleshy orbs for collecting light, vision and spirit, flesh and bone. The sky above him like a three legged cast iron cauldron pot…that is how it looked to him and just as black and twice as heavy and thick. A turned upside down cast iron pot, he felt trapped inside, prison.  The thin lines on his face filled in with the slow cold like cracks in stone fill up slowly with ice and sand and water…cutting deeper and deeper. His body moved alone and with forth and fizz, like a foam,  he slid this way and that, back and forth across the bit of Earth right below the swollen sky. He is as much a part of everything as everything is a part of him.  He doesn’t care…he doesn’t care about much, his teeth sharp and set on edge watching the thunder peel. He caught the scent of Ephraim long before Ephraim even thought to walk down this part of highway. He pads along behind, his oily hand, slicking down long strands of hair. His deep green eyes, pooled up in an empty face, not a ripple. Quietly he never lets his attention sift…he watches each and every step Ephraim makes…a spirit of time…zeitgeist.  |
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