Member-only story
Lost Wax
A Poem
The highway has been repaved, stripped right off the map, now, who knows where it ends
My heel is forever coming down, though I haven’t actually gone anyplace. I store the Screech because I’m hoping to have a visitor sometime who will drink it…while I watch
The screenplay isn’t working, dialogue out of sync with the actor’s face, pouring words into book-shaped candles hoping they will burn somewhere, the mold of the idea still AWOL
And here, you’re patting down your dirty dress, you’ve taken leaves as hair accessories, collapsed your shoes, broken feet, and now your face has disappeared, too, collecting above us in a shaky aquarium of fish the color of blood, while I drink a little more
I see the virtues you’ve endured, though you don’t need to keep them for my sake, and the time for relapse has not been added up, but with the tilting floors and ceilings, you imagine layers of depression stranded in a nameless town
J.D. Harms 2020
