FILLED: Bad Creek Fairytalecrowroad3May 3 2016, 04:07:41 UTC
Sam: all cusp and sinew, light risen on May and he’s running, along the drive to the creek, where tangles of green lose his ankles quick, and Dean finds a pool, trout and tannin, and they risk, laughing, leeches for birthday fish.
*
Dean fries them up, cracks a beer. Wraps library-lifted tales from three towns ago.
No neighbors near. Honeysuckle and kudzu, and Dad an interstate gone, path of a thing with no name.
He’ll be back, Dean says, lets Sam sad-smile, nearly arch, older than yesterday.
Dude, Dean says, tosses the kid a can.
Roughhouse the dusk away. Fireflies.
*
Couch. Shackhouse bumped by bats, an owl.
They sleep on the same sheet, TV sorry and low.
By midnight Sam is dog-days, one sweat away from nothing, mumbling Dean’s name in hot pants.
Jesus, Sammy, what is it.
Sam’s eyes lift to blank, go back, black; spine stiffens like line and pulls, screams taut.
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Sam: all cusp and sinew, light risen on May and he’s running, along the drive to the creek, where tangles of green lose his ankles quick, and Dean finds a pool, trout and tannin, and they risk, laughing, leeches for birthday fish.
*
Dean fries them up, cracks a beer. Wraps library-lifted tales from three towns ago.
No neighbors near. Honeysuckle and kudzu, and Dad an interstate gone, path of a thing with no name.
He’ll be back, Dean says, lets Sam sad-smile, nearly arch, older than yesterday.
Dude, Dean says, tosses the kid a can.
Roughhouse the dusk away. Fireflies.
*
Couch. Shackhouse bumped by bats, an owl.
They sleep on the same sheet, TV sorry and low.
By midnight Sam is dog-days, one sweat away from nothing, mumbling Dean’s name in hot pants.
Jesus, Sammy, what is it.
Sam’s eyes lift to blank, go back, black; spine stiffens like line and pulls, screams taut.
*Dad ( ... )
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