shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Eli Steiger

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Father does not know
we have left the garden.
A yard too small if not too

He sits in a haze of blue smoke
heavy in the air but light
as a cherry softly glows
whiskey and worn leather keeping him company

My brother, he has forgotten.
Stones from his hand are cruel and uncaring
it is all I can do to respond with a whisper of

Dusk looms close
shards of painted glass strewn across a canvas of indigo and silence
perhaps tomorrow they shall