A hand. Raised by ghosts. A hand that has remained still by her side for weeks . . . nay . . . months. Ever since the girl came through their doors. Ever since they found her slumped against the trash heap outside. The same heap that is scavenged by opossums and alley dwellers alike. She came to them in her dreaming. They bathed her, allowed her fresh air in the cobwebbed chair. The chair they tried not to use, if they could help it. But she had said the name . . . Mary. And she had said more . . .
Faint Going down to the floor Aides called Unlock them Prison The beginning Not sure of trust Big space Follow her close
The urge Go Down
Beginning
At the end Lum
Parchment Whisper Too much
Let the Marys continue Despondent Get away The Warder
Pauses are fine Understanding
Like it Don't
Touching Embarassment Reputation
Be cautious The Warder
The kicks Wandering Glum Lum
Stand up Bring it down
Whoreline Sally
Six Moves
The father plays Notice
Chairs
More love in an hour
Where is he
Who is he
The pauses Be good Six move Flow over Caged Animals Don't let him out
Be normal
Be right
People at Windows
Turn Scorn Deny
Let the caress come
(written by R. Zellar)
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