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the bucket by Myles Leigo

    poem by T.A. Gorton
    art by Myles Leigo

On knees bruised
by repetition,
she wipes away the violent patterns;
bucket-water pale crimson,
murky with life made still.

He was just playing...

She peels the sound of crunching bone
off walls secret-scarred.
In a row of potted plants
she finds his faded blue collar;
it jingles as she pulls it from a withered fern.
She hoists his little body
from her sparkle-white sink--
stiff like frozen cloth--
to zip him into cold plastic.

Just playing with your foot...

Before tracing her path
to the trash bin outside,
she studies each contour of home,
making sure the splatter-marks of rage are gone.

the bucket by Myles Leigo

bloodsplatter by Myles Leigo
bloodsplatter (enhanced) by Myles Leigo

The High Price of Passion

    poem by T.A. Gorton
    art by Myles Leigo

He blinks the empty wall,
grin spreading wrinkles smooth.

Champagne-glass-chatter still hangs
lightly, expensive silk ties
have left vapor trails behind.
But the crowds are gone.
They trampled a path to high-rise lives
with pieces of him tucked underarm;
brown paper-wrapped squares of his soul.

Now the painter sits,
a sail emptied of wind
for one frail moment of open sea.

All that remains are drops of color
along the cracked cement floor,
and a pocketful of checks.

bloodsplatter (enhanced) by Myles Leigo