Goblin Market Part XIII

By CBramkamp creative writing, Poetry Comments Off on Goblin Market Part XIII

She found herself on the web her legends lifted and retold

Badly.

Can I fix these?  She complained.

There isn’t enough electricity. Sam squinted at the turbine slowly turning

She nodded and continued to look for her gods.

As they labored over the Sierras, they passed

the bone yard of wrecked trains, accordioned against the base of the mountain

on the sides of the narrow trail, blackberries

and poison oak

gold bars, black cooking pans, red parkas in summer, sandals in winter

The air was as thin as a myth

She felt she could melt her wax wings against the implacable sky.

She squatted down and ran a finger over a solid bar

so pretty; so insistent

But after a few miles, too much.

You could exchange the notebooks for it: it’s valuable.

She thought of the notes fluttering like the hawks

after hitting a turbine

No, no, the stories stay.

 

She slid the bar out and it landed with a thump and puff of dust

He bent and shaved off a handful of wrinkled foil

lighter than air

heavy as greed.

The Drummer was not as kind to the preacher.

He shot him mid-step.

Damn evangelical, thinks one rhythm works for all songs.

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