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Sunday, December 9, 2012


My brain is in a cement mixer that rolls and grinds, stops at intervals to regurgitate small pieces of my mind.  They churn into driveways and sidewalks and even concrete chickens and lawn benches. 

I am the concrete chicken, my lips forever closed.  I cannot cluck or cheep or cackle.  I sit in a concrete garden, watch as cars roll past and wait for someone to take me home.  

© 2012 cj Schlottman


Sue said...

Sounds like your lips are a little more open than you think...

Some gritty, cool, and interesting images here.

Oh yeah. I could feel this one.

Teresa Highsmith said...

I could feel so much in common with you as you wrote. I love reading it and I love you.