Content

Issue 14
Unmarked

Before, we sat and stared out at the trees. Making dinner and making conversation. Food and shelter, the clothes upon my back, and a reason to spend the day. For so many time-charged tokens fall through unseen holes in our pockets, clinking along the pavement to the gutter. Unspent days elude us, rationed out in rolls packed tight by the machinery we treat as benign. To disengage is to fail in the eyes of those around us. But to walk away sews up those holes, turns our pockets inside out in defiance. In dreams I sink my hands into a deep sea of wild minutes and hours, their flashing sides unmarked by currency’s greasy brand. They swim free and I slip from the shore into their midst, shake off my rusty shackles and float away into the light.