Volume 2, November 2010

Robert KrutView Contributor’s Note

Hold Me, the Walls are Falling

Like the busted jaw of a lion, downtown lays open wide, its teeth jagged from trying to eat the stars. We hold each other when the earth shutters, keep our heads down when the windows fall like loose scabs. In that embrace, our breath mingles and we’re in a typhoon, hidden from a crowd, looking up, their mouths agape. The sky crusts over into the insides of a geode, winking itself onto the walls, refracting darkness into glitter. Hold me, hold me, because when we look up, this will all be gone and my eyes will be moon, yours, sun.