Spent rolls of duct tape are thrown
into the bonfire to keep it going a
while longer. Her hands are hiding
in the sleeves of her jacket between
moments of poking the embers and
taking drags from the pipe being passed
around by everyone. She rejected most
of the legends about the land they walked
because most of them were just to scare
people. In her mind there wasn’t a point
to a story that just tried to torment listeners
and didn’t provide some clue about getting
through the slog. In the morning they would
follow their footsteps back the way they
came until the woods ended, and they were back
in the collective dream with the rest of us.
Collective
Teleporting Typewriter 