Charcoal. I wrote something called Memories of A Pinwheel it follows unedited: Memories of a Pinwheel
What a name and what a number. Black brass-ed silence does deaf thunder.
I broke an egg and cooked what was inside, it was a picture of a fruit loop. A Yellow one with the little grains of sugar crystallized on the outside. The photo curled up at the corners as the butter and greasey eyes wander
little house i used to live in belonged to a veggie-tarian who sold it to a man with monster sized mitts and uses it to store his cave dwelling family in the bedrooms where i used to be a batman and where i used to know all the funny languages way back during the small times
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