Father Time
Father Time by Sarah Endsley Ants on the phone Mouse in a glue trap A burnt lampshade Small hairline scar Broken heart tissue Resuscitated again
Author: s.e.e.
Boston, July 2010
Boston, July 2010 by Sarah Endsley The horses are dark & skittish– and when I turn, their eyes flare– I’ve always ridden bareback, couldn’t stand
autobiography
autobiography by sarah endsley I’m just here to see the show. Waiting for the curtain. Pretending that time exists, and things can stop, and go.
inspired by you, a few months ago.
inspired by you, a few months ago. by sarah endsley We could have been friends if not for him– though we never could have really
Joshua Starr
Joshua Starr by sarah Met a guy at the 7-11 on Sun. He hopped in my car and slept on my couch, Now I can’t
Episodes, 18 and 27
Episodes, 18 and 27 by sarah endsley That night in New York, he had thrown matches from the rooftops, while I awkwardly groped for his
For C.
For C. by sarah endsley In eastern Washington, early August when the sundown smokes the sky into a purple haze, clouds begin to disappear and
untitled
untitled by sarah endsley I. There was never enough time for this, for anything. For you or me. For sycamores. The smell of buttered popcorn
Before and After the crash
Before and After the crash by sarah endsley Before the crash, we were stylish– we danced, rhythmically we imagined the chipper clink of glasses against
insecurity
insecurity by sarah endsley A grey abandoned pipe. An open field. Climb inside, trace the cracks. Still, it is round, hollow, and when your fist