Making Sweet Popcorn In A Popcorn Maker

Scene Fall

Now the wind picks up and drops it. Hunched and immobile, rocked by the hiss that breaks the silence. Wind is the wolf, the wolf is invented.

the hollow of his arpeggios, at the height of his rhythm, it melts into melody, bubbling notes inaudible. There she
to hear, as he is to wear them. They swell and stretch it to blow up the throat. Not an echo, not a whisper.

Singing wings, takes his pain, storm off. Behind the door on the ground rumbles, the rain that beats. Drops seep, flooding the floor.

knees in the puddle, it flaps its sponge dark doubts liquefied.