Jan 152014

by Connor Blacksher


The parking lot was a combination of tar and broken glass.

Under the glow of the

streetlights you could swear that you

were walking on the night sky. Crushing

stars, galaxies, beneath your boots.


Two shadows brushed by each other

the first grew to the size of the lot, becoming

a silhouette. The second became a rock.

In a gust of wind, the second shadow was

engulfed by the first.


A couple kisses in an

old beaten down car.

You watch closely, trace

the vapor leaving their noses,

Crammed on top of each other in the

drivers seat. The horn honks.


At the far edge of the lot

Shadows of birds flutter away,

afraid of the car horn judging them

for sifting through asphalt for gold.