You are standing on a dock
beside the jutting masts and crow's nest of a sunken ship, water lapping calmly under your feet. A hill rises in front of you, with what appear to be two giant gears perched atop it, and a short concrete staircase curves up the side. To the left, you see a Greek-looking dome structure made of marble, and, as you turn 360 degrees to see your surroundings, there's not a soul in sight. You take a step forward. And another step. Everything is disarmingly still, save for a pair of seagulls flying overhead in the hazy marine layer. You make your way up to a walkway running parallel to the water and see a path constructed of what looks to be railroad ties leading up past the dome and toward another classical edifice. Lying to the side of the path is a weathered piece of paper. You pick it up.
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Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
i get so angry sometimes i just punch plankton --Klinotaxis