…the smell of fireworks and brimstone

An A/C unit trills as its outer case rattles under attack from storm winds. Lightening accentuates the city-scape, light-pollution infiltrates the clouds and contours their formations with a glow. Witness a cough, abbreviated with thunderclaps, situated between a breath held in anticipation of Nature’s wrath. Shirt sleeve bends at the elbow, draws in an orifice with a promise to muffle the drool. Bright lights none the wiser. Eyes close and mark the truth. Dream music serenades the evening prayer. 

The bathroom light comes on, a towel draped over the shower rod poses a dark square against the wall. A millipede empties out from the shadow, climbs toward the ceiling, curls inside the corners like a garden hose left alone in the garage. This is how religion infiltrates passive thought. 

Celebrity profiles staged in wooden frames cling to crosses, hidden underneath the plaster. Stud finders summon disfigurement. Sonnets end at line breaks. God remembers every prayer. 

It was supposed to rain, but the clouds never appeared. It was blue skies all afternoon. Local government then opted to meet and craft the City Park budget. The council member’s bench was built in a horseshoe shape which allowed them eye contact and control over the volume of their voices, as they conducted discussions and debates. It was noted that reinforced concrete prices have increased, escalating costs for any novel construction projects. Up in the clouds, sky writers finessed tax-dollars and decided that hiring a sculptor to construct statues inside the Parks could offset building costs. Included therein was an overpriced, tax free, work of art, with overhead for use in maintenance for buildings owned by government officials. The Devil claims they’ll beat Armageddon and credits hubris when asked for an explanation on the how and why. 

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