Your sister died from the cancer. Change to vibrate. The sun gives royalties to all the pretty blue flowers. Dance beat ringtong, gunfire. A child has the face of a monster skimming the delicate pages of the phonebook. In his pocket, the anonymous organs of a cell phone, a field of dead sparrows go on singing. Speed dial in rainfall. Out shed the sentences of concentration and you think you finally understand the body and the lungs. She sits cross-legged in silk valleys of linen scrolling through her address book. You wear your trousers low and wait for the motion picture version.
Noah Falck is an elementary school teacher in Dayton, Ohio, and the author of three poetry chapbooks, most recently Life As A Crossword Puzzle (winner of the Ohio Open Thread Chapbook Award). His poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and appeared or will appear in Forklift, Ohio, Kenyon Review, diode, Copper Nickel, and The Pinch.
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