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Tag Archives: R. E. Hengsterman
Pastor Mike was one of the first. His was pink and coiled tight, bouncing across the street, passing between two cars before heading into a storm drain. Donna Bromley lost recall in Starbucks; it was dark brown and loose and … Continue reading
“What do we do with it?” “Fuck if I know,” someone hollered. The growing disturbance had pulled a small gathering into the street. “It’s mocking us,” Tink Bayman said, as it lifted its head skyward, mouth ajar. It had a … Continue reading
I’m motionless. A corpulent middle-aged statue. A ceremonial prop. Caramel-speckled autumn leaves skitter amongst my feet, palmately lobed, withered and crackling. Sugar maple (Acer saccharum), veined bare, broad, and flat. Dozens and dozens of whirling dervishes chase each other around … Continue reading