mortar, pestle, nano-bits of people

The chalk on the pavement is sucking away the lies that our neighbours gnashed into the concrete. The night’s fury had driven them outside, in blinking streetlight and dressing gowns mottled with a rage that had pastelised over years of bills lying under newspapers and becoming antique.

The suburban dogs crept into their kennels, left their barks on the lawn, where clocks had silenced them with lead pendulums, fallen into holes too shallow for the light.

The neighbours crushed themselves with mortar and pestle and the fog blew them into reams of powder, sparkling soullessly like ginger hair, nano-bits of people.

In the daylight, they have gone for a stroll, ephemeral lines, streaming down the roads, streaming into creamy, washed-out rain where the plastic sea meets the desert. Dogs push their noses into the concrete , licking the shards of porcelain that ran through their boiled, steamed blood. They were once teapots and china saucers. Once upon a night.

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