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Published on July 29, 1999 by Anthony V. Toscano
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| Renewal When a man dies his body decays at a quick pace, faster than when he was alive. Some say his corpse smells like sour strawberries crushed underfoot inside a subway tunnel on a rainy night before the next murder. While one man's corpse lies rotting, another man steps over his death, around the flesh to board the train. He hopes he's not the next, not yet, not until at least he makes it to his bed. His rest is worry, fear, his anguish his religion.  *** Thanks for stopping by to visit us here at the SpilledBeans.com web site. If you'd like to be notified whenever something new is posted to the SpilledBeans.com web site, then please join the Spilled Beans notification list. -- Con affetto, Anthony V. Toscano, Editor SpilledBeans.com |
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