towers. The way lying under the cables made your sweaters dirty. A bottle smashes in the emptied out wading pool and the TV recites final scores and the weather. You exhale along glass and watch breath disappear. The naked bushes and trees shiver square, graphing paper. Your hands are still soft. One callous on your swollen left ring finger where you never learned to hold a pencil correctly. You rub the hem of your shirt, plant a smudge, kiss of graphite. Billyâ€™s voice on vinyl carries from the other room. This is the scratch, where the record keeps skipping, singing one line at 33 RPM. You rest your free hand where your breath just died. Your face fades away when clouds cover the moon.
The fourth and final issue of Steps for the 2010-2011 academic year.