She wanted the desert. She wanted to shiver only at night. The fear she brought with her, to camp under so many heavenly witnesses, he fought back, baggy with the tequila she bought, he fought back wide, and not once did he strike her face. The three seconds between the bruising and the grand leak must have looked like a celebration of good bodies from so far away, must of reminded the fathers of what the sling-shot motion can do when enough explosions take place close to the heart of all sky. At least, for a little while, it must have resembled a creation tale…
UNFINISHED MURDER BALLAD: THE SOBER MAN IS EASILY KILLED
Following the numbers, the display and arch of the numbers, the sober man’s actions always revolve around the same nothing. An action taken is an action lost, but lost and still sober is the deal they make. He sits in the plastic chair, stolen from a motel during his drinking days, and he sits there alone. His wife is at the party. His children are at the party. All of his friends have forgotten about the motel chair. Nothing saved leaves without clawling at some eyes first, and one of those blind violent(s) knew exactly where he would be. Everyone knew already he was buried, but this time there was blood…
-- Darren C. Demaree is the author of As We Refer to Our Bodies (2013, 8th House), Temporary Champions (2014, Main Street Rag), and Not For Art Nor Prayer (2015, 8th House). He is the recipient of three Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.