Blots and blurbs on the dirt hidden in between the cracks | Poetry by Steve Kieninger
New book, first paragraph...
The first of them came on a Tuesday, just before sunset, when the quinacridone
sunlight was dripping away to the orange glow of streetlamps, their awkward
caws echoed in between the walls of the skinny alley like the far off tune of
an amateur jazz musician.In small
groups, as neon Vs against the pastel sky, the flamingoes were finally returning