Stanley Pelter


suddenly know what question it is as shoe slip mud falls away just as

nude arm moves upward sharply to grab at branches seen as dead as

dead will ever be as cannot support weight as anyway cannot reach

it for nowhere alternatives around as flimsy shadows follow slosh

shaped edge someone upfront shouts as they so always seem to as

this moment unfolds into


“is everything as it should be back there”?


cloud as dense as this

wind that scuds as fast as this

cheeks flushed as can be