Escalator handrails move faster than the part you stand on so by the top you always end up reaching for something (for Arty Rambo)

by Chris Capie

There are 10 cars in a row blinking their lights all led by a shiny black car. It’s 60 degrees on christmas with light mist spitting up from the tires of passing trucks. I look up at two black birds and then the world is swirling colors.
 
I remember the ones above the entrance to that bar in Brooklyn you took me to the one time I ever met you. You just got back together with your boyfriend. You told me so after slices of pizza near piles of split wood. Blue green yellow swirling clouds again.

Back to christmas in Hempstead with grass too green for this time of year. Back to the spitting pissing car tires and dirty street water. I can't remember the last thing I said to her. "Good to see you too" maybe? Always a little nervous with those types of things and I couldn't tell you why. Just thinking of something to say. What does an apology do anyway? Doesn't offer much in a situation like this so I'd rather not even say anything. "Sky is grey and it should be snowing." I heard someone say that today but I said it out loud for the sake of conversation. You didn't hear me. You look down at your shoes with a funny look on your face as if something might come out of the ground you're standing on. My cue to turn away. I look across the parking lot and my eyes fix on the old father just as swirling yellow blue comes and takes me away.

"Goodbye Theresa. Goodbye Mary. Mother of mercy. Mother of god. Hello holy black serpent head rising. Hello succubus stinging." Some prayer that no sane man should have to recite. It whispers it to me in a dark room. Its face of stone glimmering stream eyes rain down. Holy hole of loveless lace my heart. Swirling grey haze with bits of blue saves me.  

The father is nodding and waving and I turn back to you. Nothing came up out of the ground but you're still waiting.