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lost in broad daylight
an empty address book in hand
pages stained / yellowed
leather cover faded from
thumb running in empty circles
lost in broad daylight
forget to go home 
not knowing why

red flame seeping from her and the breaks in her skin
as the light falls and the fog rolls in
crimson-filtered grey ash crimson-flittered
inside her eyelids, underneath her skin
face upturned, world is red everything
red and burning
burning itself, burning down
feeding on everything
[feeding on the bones of her]
until there is nothing left, nothing in life
that has not fed the fire


I’m almost never on here anymore. If, at any point, I cease to be extremely busy I will resume posting my writings.

Until then, I am periodically on Twitter if you still desire to keep in touch: @sarahjanerusher

I also befriended tiny ponies and a rooster. All before 9 AM.
(Note the cute baby/toddler-ish chickens in the background.)
(Also note that both of the tiny ponies would not equal one of my dogs. They’re tiny. And absurdly cute.)


dense fog cut by headlights, windows down
a middle-of-night-middle-of-nowhere drive:


do you know where we are? all these houses
look the same / cracker box houses that’s what
Elaine calls them / this is a strange place /
I know / for a subdivision / I guess /
is there a difference? /
subtle ones always subtle /
the cracker box houses are gone /
I noticed / it feels like we’re in a sea
now and that it was parted / by who? /
not Moses / this isn’t an escape to some
holy land out of suppression an army is
not going to drown behind us / you’re so
literal  [pause to push windblown hair from face]
I think it looks like milk / what? / the fog it
looks like milk 
/ if the fog looks like anything
it is a deflated cloud not milk definitely not milk


do you know where we are? / not really /
why did we do this? / it’s the middle of the
night we were trapped / you said this wasn’t
an escape 
/ I was wrong then and this is what
I am saying now / what if we never go back 
what if the fog is milk and we are spilling
out of the carton with it? / they would put
our faces on the milk cartons the ones we
didn’t spill out of