I sit. I run. I clap. I walk.

He jumps. He cries. He licks. He walks.

You find a power-man. She is the power-man.

I am. I am who is. I am what I am and I am no other. It is hard being me, nobody else can do it.

She sits, knowing the cart is coming on Wednesday and she can’t make it come faster. She stands --- not better. Twittles and twinks and twabjack and jibblejar but… only the package. Wednesday arrives. She + package = happiness? No. Forgotten the next day.

The power overwhelms her. She is unready to harness the rage. It flows like sap. It pulses like heartbeats. Explosion on 44th Street.


About the author

Cecil Bee

Bio: Creator

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