07 January 2013
The Cough II
A great rotunda. Bitter cold. Then one drop — dangling — an out-of-place pearl. You don’t want it to drop. You want it to drop. You don’t want it to drop. But it does. And when the ripples run to the edges of the circular pool, that’s when all the tickling icicles fall. And shatter. And stab. And then. And then they rise up again — the hollow pipettes like the bones of hummingbird figurines — reforming the cage of icy chimes.