By: Erin Davis
In these ephemeral moments of fatigue, I am the
Master. In the crevasses of the swirls upon my fingertips,
I hold the insatiable serum, the rust-free key, of what I consider-
The Paradise of Words. In these words I find a sorrow, but a
Sweet sorrow, a damper on my mind and a kiss to the spirit that
Reminds me: I am mortal. In this mortality lurks a vengeance
Wholly mine, but shared by the neighbor, even the cat, whose paws
Curl around the frayed rug, weeping at the life of lethargy. And as this
Attitude of Rue comes crashing like the wave when the crest finally gives way and
Collapses of fright over trough, I too wash up on the shores of
What we all know as Elegance. It really is droll the way the august heart
Hardens against the body and seals itself away, hanging on the edge of
Ostentatiousness. In the end, though, the reality of the fleeting moments before
Rest all manifest into one audible, feeble effort: a laugh.