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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/10/2016 :  17:58:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Scribble of fog drifting down the track wrapping its pale scarf around them. His freeze-frame profile on the midnight train window. His lightning-struck summing-up eyes. Sack of warm flour tortillas. Bucket of chile Colorado. Secret compartment leather belt. Pistol snug in his boot.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/11/2016 :  19:54:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Some days he reaches across the sky.
Some nights he reaches through it.

Oh, nicked finger.
Oh, heart full of vows.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/15/2016 :  14:28:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

God's Eyes and Guadalupe Virgins in the windows off Avenida Lopez Mateos. Arches and alcoves. Votives flickering in ruby globes. The relic vendor napping under a sun-dazzled sky. Her tattered umbrella and mylar balloon.

He painted the moon. A silver apparition. The rain. Splattered stars on the cobbled ground. He painted the fish mongers working in the harbor. The dulce peddlers Technicolor skulls. The blissful children's faces. He painted the gravity to keep it all spinning in place.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/19/2016 :  17:40:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tiny town fountain and roundabout in the Valle de Guadalupe. Wide tree in the center with a makeshift bench all around. Three wrought iron chairs welded together. Carved picnic bench with painted-over graffiti. A child's wooden highchair with half the legs cut away but the tray intact. Some mornings they'd find a piece added. Suddenly the day turned golden.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/20/2016 :  21:01:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
-from Burning the House Down

Each time they return nothing's changed. The four-corner sky and smooth place on the rock they share with blinking lizards. The old metal glider with its faded sunflower cushions. The basket of limes on the table. Maverick wine and arbor jasmine hypnotic as a drug. There's a washing machine but no dryer. From porch to pole where the line dips low the sheets hang folded in sun-charged air.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2016 :  19:11:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two blue herons rising out of the marsh that morning. In tandem through layered clouds. Clasp of silver holding the sea and the sky together. Dream seasons in the twentieth century.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2016 :  18:31:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two hours with his elbow out the window in a late decade in the twentieth century. Winding washboard roads through grapes sugaring on the vine. Delirious slow bees in meadows of glowing clover. His rolling up and down stride along the arbor path. Key behind the pine eagle he nailed over the double Dutch door. Hand-carved wings in flight.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2016 :  18:34:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In his sixth sense world they walk about in watery light. Footsteps in a parallel life. Late sunsets in Daylight Saving Time. The great dark fallen away. Flash paper days. Consequence on every page.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/14/2016 :  18:37:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"Do you remember...?" he says. The old frames unspooling. A boulevard of churches. A Border's revolving door. An antique coach on an abandoned spur in a rail yard in the Coachella Valley. Sun-warm tequila. Chilled gardenias in jars. A silhouette crossing the tracks. They're sitting on the floor with the photographs between them. Hand-written notes on the back. "Sometimes I hold them up to the light to read the words backwards," she says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/20/2016 :  18:26:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He works on several paintings at once. Laying color down in bold rapid strokes. His slight of hand ahead of his consciousness. His innate quirky magic breaking free. Other times he steps back and stares. Sets the brushes and the palette aside. Grabs the pole and the bucket and the battered straw hat. Walks out to a watery edge.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/29/2016 :  17:22:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"We're under the river now," she says. "One way in and one way out." Above them the perilous skyscrapers. Twilight traffic. Chilly stars. He's quiet for several moments, then, "Once upon a time... Takes years," he says, "keep talkin'." "Three Hail Mary's wipe the slate clean," she says. He laughs, "No glass between us on visiting day, hahaha. Do you know what I'm sayin'?" he says. "Go ahead, preach to me," she says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/02/2016 :  18:04:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They flew through the jet-scarred sky. She was afraid to fly. She sat on her suitcase clenching her fists and biting her bottom lip. He sat with his duffle between his knees clean-shaven in his shining white shirt. He'd lean in close to her ear. His mouth of invention inventing a soft landing beside a tinsel-strewn vineyard, a blossom-blurred almond grove.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/11/2016 :  18:28:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
No careless mystery under his brush. A smudge of turquoise against verdant hills. A weathered cottage in the vineyard's green. Violet twilight in a steeple-topped village. Melancholy time in the clock tower. Random stars. A rendezvous. A midnight panorama. Votives flickering in the windows and on the porch rail. Candles burning the house down in Mexico. "...just a little accordion embroidery..." he said.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/21/2016 :  19:06:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Old frames unspooling on the memory boulevard. Rain rushing the gutter of their high-curb corner. Delicate petals trembling in galvanized watering cans. The flower vendor waiting out the storm in her van while Pick Up Sticks lightning charge the plum-lit sky. He's rushing across the avenue through a maze of rain-streaked windshields. Side-stepping puddles. Folded newspaper over his head.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/24/2016 :  08:40:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Life on India Street a block from the Star somnolently rocking in the harbor. Small boats riding at anchor in sunset's sequined light. Glow in the galley when his scrolled maps unroll. When the Mute Fortune Teller talks to The Sailor in Sign. Little divots where they touch each other's hands.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/30/2016 :  22:39:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
On Saturday nights they cruise the Street Bazaar. Aisles so narrow they brush against the stalls on either side as they pass. A maze of choices to enchant them. Alebrije dragons and catrina dolls. Braided lariats and hand tooled boots. Sweets in red cellophane and spices in twists of brown paper. A small pine shelf he chooses. A carved eagle with wings in flight.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/02/2016 :  18:25:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the city of hills they wake up under a higher sky. Salty clouds crowd the window and dapple the counterpane. There's a bay view to look out to. Ships in the harbor. A flotilla of sun-crowned sails. His fine-china cup mind on the edge of the counter when the number 15 trolley rides by. He's talking about flying, "...not in a plane or a dream..." he says. His voice in the kitchen amplified by steam.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2016 :  17:36:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Harbor Sunset. Container cranes like prehistoric skeletons. And their miniature children, the stilted herons stalking the edge of a tilted world. Beyond the bridge a small squall. A pocket rain. A ruby at the top of a mast passing under. Some evenings he'd measure it all with his arms spread wide on the balcony. His silhouette in the burnished light a Rosebud mystery.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2016 :  19:41:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

He'd trace his brow. He'd place a thought there. His mouth full of smoke. His words on fire. Coal nights when the stars came down. Where they sat knee to knee with their stories and cold shoulders. The moon rocking in its sky-locked cradle.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/24/2016 :  16:04:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Vines climbing up through the floor boards. Boats moored beneath the bed. A blue bonnet meadow. A tin man tower. A leap of faith through the looking glass. Ink-stained sheets and dog-eared pages. A handmade patchwork quilt. Day to day miles of chipped and fractured light on the shoulder of a glass-edged freeway. Time running on with its limited amount of breaths. "Do this for me," he said.
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