Brian Boutwell

Form of Leaving


I awake in a path cut through a dense wood, then walk, bending grass into sand, to an untended cotton field. Here it is dark and hazy. Hard for the eyes to focus. In the distance something repeatedly flashes. I keep focusing, and see a combine sunk into the ground, still awaiting a harvest. A child then appears before me, holding a little canvas and wooden dinosaur carcass. Further beyond the opening is a tall square building—an hotel—that has a yellow "no vacancy" sign glitching. I go toward it and enter in the form of leaving.










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