Ellipses | Charles Rafferty

You leave out the boring stuff. With you, it’s all car chases and sex scenes. You are three gunshots squeezed off in the distance, surrounded by silence and the expectation of sirens. You depart the page like an echo, like the last of the snow converting to mud, like the three birds that lifted off their wire and flew away from me this morning, as if the matter could be settled so easily. You are three ants threading my yard in search of the perfect crumb. You are the belt of Orion. You are the redaction, the burned love letter, the knock of the bill collector. You are three darts thrown over a cliff in search of the lurching sea …

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