To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Leslie Maryann Neal's previous piece
Walking to the Car A cloud, a blue-white scoop like ice cream noticing the cold, hovers between buildings like a Magritte dream. Shadows move from window to tinted window, a Rorschach test of sliding ink. I believe I am going insane. The inkblot shadow looks one moment like a giraffe holding a hand grenade, the next like a bowl of granola. Loneliness presses bruises into my skin with its weight, carves every letter of its name with surgical precision into my eyes. I get into the car. On the 405, I pass one of those lit signs that forecast traffic. It says, THIS IS A TEST THIS IS A TEST THIS IS A TEST.
To the top of this page