FLOWERGIRL2find your fingers at the ends of your hands and push, long dark shadows peeling away, faces washing in and out with the surf, sea foam like tiny metallic cake decorations, asphalt gives way to gravel, children in choirs singing, a sudden panic, downward into unknown substance, sky ringing, orange/red peals of bells, taste of stars, wind whistles fierce through the chassis, peering out, taking hold of a big scarred finger, led into the unknown, your hand in sparks, red shag carpet, interior of a Dodge van, crashing surf, your past running up driveways, finding clovers, stuffing mint leaves into your socks, climbing trees, blood coming out of you in hot globs, seeping into the carpet, appliques on the side of the van, visions of fantasy worlds, cosmos swirling around the small black dome window like hoof tracks of celestial horses, sea wrack rolling over and over beaten and eroded to the end of things, water coming in, hitting the shore of some uninhabited planet, cling of suckers drawing bloodSKULLS2dark surf crashing, you hear it as you struggle, a van on the coastal highway, when you were alive, and things mattered, dates and times, time-stamps and records, manila folders closed in drawers, you kept appointments and had aspirations, beach crashing under moon, darkness like netting, under water with the fish, under waves with the moon, as it rolls through the night, setting off sparks across the sky, from overlooks as the engine idles, take a swift steep curve, tastes like dirt and absent souls unknownwardCHURCHEYES2beach crashing out, overlooked body parts, blood in water, absent souls, downward in dark surf, in sparks, time-stamps and aspirations, metal highway, coastal horses, bells, choirs singing trees, engine idles, under the wind you can hear it, asphalt gives way to wonder and tiny voids, tracks through unknown substance, taste of red plush sweater, uninhabited planet, sea water coming in, smell the stars, wind whistles fierce, climbing out of the surf, blood on your hands and panic, downward in sparks, as you smell sunset’s interior, as it rolls across the moon, dissolves metallic and whimpers, men struggling and eroded, and windows, dates, and whistles fierce the moon, full of her times, paper and tanks, letting out the souls, the blood going through, the coastal highway, manila folders, ozone, children from 1970, visions of tracks, of panic and being surf, sea creatures, the hoof, the plush carpet, the van

About Lawrence Benner

Lawrence Benner squandered his early years as a punk guitarist and chapbook-slinging street poet in the Mission District of San Francisco. He did a decade as a subway musician in ex-Communist East Germany, worked as a zusammenfassung schreiber for the legendary Schaubühne am Lehniner Platz in Berlin, and went on to write, produce, and direct three failed low-budget films for the independent production company Buried Pictures. (In reference to his 2002 film, Ether, actor Willem Dafoe scribbled, "Liked it" on a yellow Post-it note.) Mr. Benner has been a Weeklings contributing editor since 2012, and when he isn’t writing this bio, he can be found hard at work on his debut novel, Memorial World. He lives in Asheville, North Carolina with his common-law wife and three insubordinate cats.
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