skyline_diamonds raze they hadn't bathed in days. they negotiated nervous steps through a strange city, fugitives unsure of who or what they were running from, wearing identical yellow zip-up hoodies. her dark unbroken hair was some kind of miracle. his face was overgrown with the dirty-looking sandpaper a few days without a razor will encourage. they looked more like stranded siblings than lovers. the natives in their headdresses and gowns and long flowing scarves watched them from a distance, through a veil of respect distant and precarious. "they seem to like us," she said. "yes," he mumbled. "the stink alone has made us more popular than i thought we'd be." he couldn't remember his name. she didn't know hers. a name is just a title you give to something you don't fully understand. a form of misdirection. he thought about that. he took her hand and traced small circles beneath her knuckles with the finger he would keep if he owed money to a dangerous mafioso and could not pay, and as punishment four fingers on his dominant hand were to be amputated, but he could choose which one would stay, and knowing his creditor would be kind enough not to disregard his choice, he would save the index finger — not because of its power relative to the rest, but because it was the digit most capable of beauty in its movement. so he massaged his circles, felt but not seen, with that finger, for that reason. nights they slept on a bed of cinders, watching diamonds poke holes in a black sky. in their dreams they knew who they were, and then woke to find the residue of their remembered selves drying out and fading like an unstable acrylic paint. one morning she woke herself up singing. she felt she recognized the song, but couldn't place it. there was no place for it to go. it lingered a while, grew sweeter in the sad parts, and left. she fell back into sleep, and in her dream she watched a bird of indeterminate origin impale itself on the windshield of a filthy red pickup truck. it made a remarkable thud. feathers left its body as waves of smoke excreted by a naked flame. she peeled the creature's bloody plumage from the milky glass. what was left of its face was frozen in an expression of total calm. "you knew what you were doing," she said. she carried the bird to an open field and covered it with leaves. buried above ground, to become a part of the earth while remaining in motion, its improvised grave a slave to the whims of the elements, as are we all. 130618 what's it to you? who go blather from