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Earl Grey

The downpour that began the night before was now – at nearly dawn – a hovering, thin mist. The grass was soggy, the air just above freezing. It reminded Lottie of home.

“You look awful,” Det. Marx said as she approached the bridge. Such a charmer. He offered her a Styrofoam cup of Earl Grey that promised to be awful. Lottie long ago accepted that she’d never find a decent cup in this century. All the same, she took it – the hot liquid inside warming her fingers – and glimpsed at the corpse.

He lay on his back, spread eagle and bare-chested. Carved into the gray skin and glistening dully with morning dew, Lottie saw it clearly even from a distance.

It was his mark.

“So… he’s crossed over again,” Lottie said.

Her partner nodded.

Let it begin.


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growing. up.

Originally posted on words on life and other strange experiences:

Can be less than expected. Even cruel in it´s underestimated trait
– To end

Fleeting. I try to grasp all the forms confiding you.
Words and guestures. Often in haste, so full of anger.
Which origin i can not decipher.
Are etched into my skull, on the map my brain so naturally created.
You say, it has to be that way.
Whenever i cry out in pain. Infront of you. You ask my what to do.

All of this happened so many years ago. But for the child inside of me,
It never stopped. I try to draw it out of the shadows and weary minded memories.
Latley

You told me you loved me. So many times. “I am proud of you, my eldest.”
And still, he kept hitting me, tearing my soul to pieces. from time to time.
The mind developes strategies to put together the shattered fragments.
My…

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Five Minute Poem #9

Happenstance places
   Disparate forces in proximity
   To Each Other

Often
   Only for lost moments

Yet sometimes
   On courses of lost
   Eternities

The beginning
   Unknown

Only twisting
   Now in fantastic swirls
Then in writhing tangles

This knot
   
   Holding

      Holding
 
         Holding on

4:37.56

(c) 2014, Norman Dziedzic Jr.

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