Let's fight the fash.

Let someone other than she, she
decides, take the rap for causing
an embarrassment of witches.  My sorrow 
is my castle.  She winks, and
fifteen miles away, some car runs
over a cat. Simple earthly mechanics. 

Again I am listening 
to Miles. It becomes a
pattern. The heat, the 
open Magritte on the 
computer desk, the cat 

My father, having stopped at the thermostat, perhaps thought he was being subtle. But the metallic screech still sliced through the pre-dawn quiet, clear as a bell, even when he only raised it a crack to duck under.

He would periodically forget that he was holding a pistol down at his side, and when he became conscious of its weight, he brought it up to the ready position before ultimately becoming overwhelmed with confusion and fear and letting his arms fall to his side only to repeat the process.